Bittersweet
by demondreaming
Summary: When Tori first came to Hollywood Arts, I knew exactly two things about her. One, she could sing, and two; I didn't like her. But I know so much more now. I know that she shivers when you kiss her hips. And I know that her toes curl when she comes. Jori.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: Victorious, much like a black belt in the ancient art of karate, does not belong to me.**

Tori Vega.

When she first came to Hollywood Arts, I knew exactly two things about her. One, she could sing, and two; I didn't like her. And I was content knowing nothing then. But I know so much more now.

I know she can act. I know she's not as good as she seems. I know that she stinks at math. I know that she likes to wear vanilla scented perfume. I know that she likes it when you bite her lip. I know that her nails are sharp enough to leave a mark. I know that she shivers when you kiss her hips. And I know that her toes curl when she comes. I know a lot about her now.

It's hard to say when it really began. I'm not talking event-wise, no, that's pretty clear when that started. I'm talking all the bullshit feelings and ideas behind it. I don't know when they started. Not on her side, and not even on mine. But I guess they were there at some level, I just never looked too hard. It's easier to hide it with anger, to hide everything with bitterness. I mean, who did Tori think she was? Always fucking helping everyone with their problems, always wiggling out of every mess I put her into. Always being the nice guy, and never letting anything get her down. It was infuriating, but I couldn't let it go. Cat's just as nice, if not as smart, but I don't do the same shit to her. Andre's just as kind, but I don't give a shit about him. No, there's always been something about Tori, and at first, I could've said it was anger over Beck, jealousy. But she's made it clear to me, time and time again, that she isn't interested in him. I know she's not pining over him, and I know he's not stupid enough to fall for someone like Vega. So that one reason I had? It's gone, but I was still determined to make her life a living hell. To just bring her to her knees for once, and I couldn't be bothered looking behind my reasons why. It's a grey area; as to when the thoughts started. They're too well buried to dig up. But when it started? Event wise? When everything that was secretly simmering finally boiled over? Well, that's easy to tell.

/

"This is disgusting."

"Of course it is, it's vomit."

"Jade... don't remind me."

I scrubbed at the orange splash that ran down the wall of the janitor's closet. I figured Sinjin and his little friends would've been able to hold their lunch, instead of spreading it on the walls. They were only in here for an hour. But then, I had _maybe_ given them some... special soup. It was some stupid plan to bring Tori's play down. She'd written this play, and I admit... it was good. Too good. So I figured if it got... misplaced, it'd be for the best. Tori would fail, and maybe then she'd show up to school with a frown, instead of that fucking persistent smile. I hadn't counted on everyone pitching in behind her, and helping her write another one. So I may have sabotaged her crew when it came time for the dress rehearsal, poisoned them, and locked them in the janitor's closet. No big deal.

Unfortunately, the janitor let them out, and I got caught, and saddled with cleaning the mess up. Although at least Tori got the blame too; it was her soup I poisoned. Her little thank you gift to everyone turned out to be a big 'fuck you'. Let's see if they'd help her now. Silver lining is; she still thinks it was her fault the soup made everyone sick. That's a small victory. It doesn't mean much as I scrub at a persistent runnel of vomit, my stomach turning. We work in silence for the most part, broken every now and then by a dry retch. It's not until we go the girl's bathroom to clean up, the halls dark and deserted, that Tori finally says something.

"What'd you put in the soup?"

I think for a moment I've misheard her over the sound of the running water, echoing around the tiled walls of the bathroom. I soap my hands for a moment.

"I don't know what you're talking about."

There's a distant thunk from the pipes as Tori turns the tap off in her sink, water cutting off. She turns to me, head hanging. "Why do you hate me?"

I inspect my fingernails under the shimmering water, eyebrows dug down. "Why do you think I hate you?" I twist my tap off, reaching for a ream of paper towel.

Tori almost snorts, palms turned out towards me. "What else am I supposed to think? I am _nothing_ but nice to you, Jade. I told you, I don't want to steal Beck, I don't want to do anything to you. I just want you to like me, okay? I'm trying really hard to be your friend. Why do you keep trying to hurt me?"

I scrunch the dampened paper towel in my hand, tossing it in the trash. "Tori, if you knew I put stuff in the soup, why did you help clean up?" I turn to her then, a studded eyebrow raised. "That was fucking disgusting, in there." I point out the door. "Why didn't you just tell Lane it was me? Huh? Why do you keep fucking covering for me?"

A muscle in Tori's jaw twitches, and she wipes her hands brusquely on the front of her shirt. "Because you're my friend, Jade. That's what friends _do_. They help each other. They don't try to ruin each other's lives."

My hand curls into a fist, eyebrows digging down over my nose, and I take a step towards her. "Then stop being so fucking nice. Stop being so good. Just once, _just once_, be fucking human, Vega. Stop being so goddamn perfect." My finger's raised like a dagger, pointing towards her chest, and I just want to stab, and twist, until I see blood. Until I see that she's just like me.

She exhales hard through her nose, an incredulous look on her face. "You think I'm perfect? What, you think the stuff you do doesn't hurt me? It hurts, Jade. It hurts a lot, and I don't understand. Why do you do it? Why are you so mean to me?" Her head jerks forward, like she's trying to peer into my brain, see through my eyes and dig around for why I keep trying to ruin her. "Is it because of Beck? Is it because everyone _likes_ me? Is it because your friends like me _more_ than you?" I can see that perfect _façade_ fracturing, anger running through the splintered cracks. And I realise that all my little plots _did_ get to her. They did hurt her, as much as she pretended they didn't.

My teeth grit, and I take another step towards her, fire burning in my chest. I swear I'm almost seeing red. I just want to snap her. "Because... because..." I'm trying to force the words out, the reasons I have ready dissipating. It's like trying to throw up on an empty stomach; I'm getting nothing but bitter bile. "Because I..." I grit my teeth harder, Tori backing away until she hits the wall. Her face is still angry, eyebrows still arrowed over the bridge of her nose, but her eyes flick from side to side. She's scared, too. And I realise I don't know why. I don't know why I keep trying to hurt her. I reached into that pile of 'reasons', looking for something solid to jab in her face, but I'm left empty-handed. The muscles in my cheek are working like crazy, heart pounding in my chest, lungs on fire, and my retching finally brings something up. My hand finally grabs hold of something solid, buried deep, deep down in the pile. "It's because I fucking want you, okay?" It feels like my rib cage is splitting open, a rush of cold air chilling the exposed flesh, and nerves, and bones, and I take a broken breath, fingernails digging into the palms of my hand. "I fucking want you, and I hate it. _I hate it_."

Tori's eyes widen, and she reaches a hand to my shoulder. "Jade..."

I shove her back, her hand falling from my shoulder. My lungs feel raw and exposed, eyes crawling over her, and with every breath, my chest brushes hers. And she looks so... so fucking sympathetic. So fucking nice. A muscle in my cheek twitches, like a loosed wire, snapping free from my brain, and the hand that pushed her back is moving to her cheek. "I just want you out of my head." My lips crash into hers, Tori making a soft sound of protest, but her hands stay limp at her sides, she doesn't try to pull away. Her lips are so soft, so sweet, not like Beck's. So foreign, so, so soft. So yielding, and her skin is so warm under the palm of my hand, and that fire is my chest is raging, is melting everything in me and sending it to pool in the pit of my stomach.

Tori's panting when I pull away, her lips flushed, her eyes stunned. "I just want it to stop." It comes out almost as a whisper, and I realise that this is why. I hate the way she makes me feel, without even trying. Without even noticing. I hate how I can't bring her down. I hate how I can't be her. I hate myself for being me, for being this stupid, broken person that can't function. That can't make anyone's life better, only worse. I hate that I can't stop hating her.

Tori's tongue runs out over her lips as she takes a shallow breath, her eyes flicking over my face, like she's finally understanding, like she's finally seeing me for what I am. Her fingertips tickle under my chin, her head tilting forward until we're centimetres apart, her breath feathering my cheek. A smile tugs at the edges of her lips, but there's no humour in it. "I just want you to like me." She kisses me, and this kiss, this hard, almost brutal kiss isn't to make me like her, that's not what she meant. She's not doing this to make me like her. She's doing this because she wants me too. She wants me to want her, and it's fucked up, and confusing, but I find myself not caring as her tongue breaks into my mouth, tracing over my teeth. Our hands are cold, still damp, smelling of cheap liquid soap and cleaning products, and our clothes are spotted with filth, with wavering specks of bleach, but somehow, it doesn't matter. I shiver when she touches my waist, hand sliding up under my shirt, her fingers like ice. I feel like I should almost be steaming, sizzling under her touch, because I'm so hot, and she's so cold, but underneath her shirt, it's so warm. My lips attack her neck, and she throws her head back, gasping, her hands tightening on my breasts, and it makes my lips jerk back from the dampened skin of her throat, pant out a short breath before returning, nipping at that racing pulse that trembles under the thin skin.

I strip her shirt off, tossing the light blue top onto the damp floor of the bathroom, Tori hissing as her bare back presses against the dirty white tiles of the wall. She yanks mine off too, hands tangling in my hair as soon as it's off, pulling my face to her. Our kisses are rough, are cruel, are fuelled as much by anger as by lust. And to think I thought all my little schemes never bothered her, never frustrated her. Her fingers tug almost painfully at my hair, and I bite down on her lower lip, her nails digging into my scalp as she breaks free to gasp, a muffled curse in her voice.

A smile creeps across my face, nails skating over Tori's flat, tan stomach, muscles shivering under my fingertips, and Tori's eyes are wide as I stop at her belt, fingers dipping just under the waistband of her jeans. I think it must be the sweetest smile she's ever seen from me, and she opens her mouth as if to say something, a flicker of doubt on her face, as if she's finally realising that we're both half-naked in a school bathroom. Her teeth click shut, and she wets her lips, hands covering mine where they rest on her belt, and I wonder for a moment if she's going to push me away, if she's going to run away, and forget this ever happened. But then her fingers are fumbling with the catch to her belt, yanking it out of the loops of her jeans and dropping it to the floor.

Her fingers stutter on the button to her jeans, shaking as she drags the zipper down, revealing a triangle of her blue-striped boyshorts. She watches me carefully, her pupils huge in her coffee-coloured eyes, and it should be a sobering sight, to see Tori Vega stripped bare and vulnerable before me, her lips shaking with every short, unsteady breath she takes. The skin on her throat damp and dappled red from my lips. Her hands, limp at her sides, palms turned out helplessly. It should be a sobering sight, but it's not. It only frustrates me more, to see her so helpless. She never fights back, she just takes whatever shit I throw at her. It makes that anger, that rage that's mixed with this lust, just flare up again, and I brace my hand on the chilly tiles of the wall, right hand slipping under the waistband of her boyshorts, skin growing softer and hotter the further down I move, until she's searing me, hot and wet, and it's all too easy to just stroke two fingers along her, to hear the soft moan that escapes when I do, her head thrown back, locks of brunette hair striping her throat. I kiss along her jaw, tracing that hard ridge with my tongue as my fingers stroke harder, Tori's breath shuddering in her throat.

"J-jade...mmph-" Tori's voice cuts off as my fingers force themselves into her, her nails digging into my shoulderblades, hard enough to break the skin. I swear softly, letting out liquid breath into the crook of her shoulder, pumping my fingers harder until she's soaking my hand, until she's searing the bone with her heat. I angle my thumb to brush her clit on every stroke, her hips jerking away from the wall into me as I do. "F-fuck-" She whimpers, and I feel a little burst of pride that I forced that out of her.

"Say my name again, Tori." I hiss into her ear, panting. "Say it again."

"J-jade." Her voice slips out in broken pieces, dripping down her lips, and I kiss her almost tenderly, tasting my name on her lips.

I break the kiss with a soft sound, whispering against her lips. "Again."

"Jade." It's louder now, almost a plea, shaking and rattling out of her, and it makes my breath sob out, makes my chest heave and my ribs flex like something is trying to burst free, something hot and huge and raw that's trying to claw it's way out, that's ripping up my lungs and my heart in it's struggles. I twist my fingers inside her, Tori's moans getting louder, and she's hot and tight around me, and so soft, everything about her is so soft. Her hips buck into me, clashing with mine, and I force them back, press her back into the icy wall, her skin sticking to the tiles, my palm clammy where it braces me, planted beside her head. And there are words like she's trying to speak, and maybe they're _stop, don't stop, harder, please, no, yes, god_, and a million other fragments blended together, but they're lost in the pleasure that's building in her. The one I can almost taste, can almost feel the echo of. It's present in every jerk of her body, every breath that's ripped from her, every subtle tightening of her muscles, until finally it freezes her. Until she clenches around me, whimpering, her nails gripping tight into my back, hard enough to make me wince, and then she slowly unwinds, like a clockwork toy that's sprung apart.

We're both left panting, and I lean on her for a moment, our torsos pressed together, slick and hot, my mouth pressed to her collarbone, head bowed. But the moment passes, and I drag my hand out of her panties, pushing myself off the wall and crossing to the sink. I watch her in the mirror, hands finding their way to her jeans almost dreamily, clumsily doing them back up. She jumps as I twist the tap on, water roaring, pumping soap into the palm of my hand, and scrubbing every trace of her away. She picks up her shirt and belt, holding them at waist level as if they're unfamiliar objects. I turn the tap off, scooping my shirt up with wet hands and tugging it on, brushing my hair out from underneath the neck. Tori looks around like she's lost something, her eyes roaming until they click onto me, like I have all the answers she's searching for.

"Look. This never happened, okay? This can never happen, get it? What this was... it can never happen again. I don't..." I run a hand through my hair. "I don't like you." The words are bitter, crawling out of my mouth like some rotten ichor, turning my stomach. "Get it?"

Tori stares at me for a moment, her face solemn, until she finally nods slightly, licking her lips. I swallow hard. "Okay." She echoes my words. "This can never happen again."

I nod at her, swiping my damp hands on my shirt. I washed them clean, but I can still feel her, like a film on my hand, coating my fingers. My shoulder bumps hers on the way out, forcing her back a step. "Never again." I mutter, yanking the door open.

But it does happen again. And again. And every time is meant to be the last, is never meant to happen, should never happen again. It's 'never again', again and again.

**A/N: Lest you think this is a horrible ending, let me assure you; it is. But it's the horrible ending to the chapter, not the whole story, so I suggest you wait with bated breath for the next part. Or, if you're not too handy with spelling, with baited breath, but I wouldn't recommend eating nightcrawlers and minnows unless you're a fish. In which case, you definitely shouldn't be using a laptop. That's just poor planning, right there. You're going to get electrocuted, and be delicious with lemon.**

**So please review, it's always lovely. Unless you _are_ a fish, in which case, just sort of flop about and gasp for air. Well... not air, water, but you know.**


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Victorious, despite my drunken yelling the previous night, does not belong to me. Also, I couldn't climb that lamppost. I admit I was wrong about that.**

**/**

"Vega." The name comes out flat, hard, a word that slaps the air. It's a statement, not a question, but she takes it like one.

Tori pushes herself off my car, her arms unfolding while mine cross defensively, as if they could keep her voice out. The sun stains her skin orange as it hangs low in the Hollywood sky, the last of the kids leaving the parking lot. I'd hung back after school, rifling through the trash in my locker and finally just sweeping it all out, sick of it, slamming the cool steel door with a rattle.

Ever since that day, that day I don't think about, I _don't_, it's been the same. No, not the same, just a forced replication of what things used to be like. Beck's arms are a shield I sink back into, his chest a hard wall to rest against. A place to smirk at Tori from, while she flicks her eyes away and gnaws at her lip. A reminder that nothing happened, remember? A contradiction. Every chance I get I snap at her, I let my tongue slice through her skin and draw blood. But it hurts to see her flinch, to see her take every blow with a soft confusion, like she's forgotten that this was how things were, although maybe not this severe.

I've seen her try to catch my eye sometimes, breath held like she's about to say something, and those times I've turned and tugged Beck closer, crashed my lips into his and lost myself. This is what happens, this is what is expected. I don't talk to Tori, I don't listen to her. I'm not her friend, I'm not her confidant, and I am most certainly not her lover. I'm nothing to her, and she's nothing to me. Acquaintances and nothing more. At least, that's how it should be.

Yet here she is, leaning against my car, brow furrowed down. "We have to talk, Jade."

"About what, Vega? About you scratching my car?"

Tori pushes a hand through her hair, glancing instinctively to where I point. "I didn't- look, you know why I'm here. You know what I want to talk about. Stop playing dumb."

"Dumb?" I let a low laugh escape me. "Did you just call me dumb, Vega?" I shake my head, blue extension stroking my cheek.

Tori lets out an exasperated sigh. "You know what I mean, Jade! Stop... stop pretending nothing happened."

I let the smirk drop off my face, eyebrows arrowing down. "I _don't_ know what you're talking about, Tori. And neither do you. _Nothing happened._"

The lights of my navy sedan flash as I hit the unlock button, slinging my bag off my shoulder.

"Jade-" Tori's voice holds an edge of anger, and I feel that smirk return to my face. Anger I can handle, anger I can fight. That soft confusion that stained her words before... that I don't know how to deal with. Same reason I can't deal with children. I don't know how to make someone understand what's so clear to me.

I shrug her hand off my shoulder roughly as it touches tentatively, Tori curling it to her side, face set.

I circle around to the driver's side, pulling the door open roughly and tossing my bag in. "Grow up, Vega. Nothing happened, okay? Just get over it."

I sit heavily in the leather seat, material warm from the sun, hands sliding onto the grey steering wheel, leather worn. I shut the door heavily, eyes flickering closed for a moment as the sound from outside gets cut off. My car is my sanctum. When I'm pissed off, when I'm upset, it lets me run, lets me drown my ears in music and set my brain to autopilot. It lets me stop thinking, it lets me forget. It calms me when everything else fails.

My fingers clench on the wheel as sound floods in again, passenger door opening and Tori sliding in, shutting it quietly behind her. "I can't, Jade."

I glance over at her, her bag clutched to her, eyes staring straight ahead, limbs held close like she's scared I'll bite one off.

"I can't forget that you... that you f-fucked me, Jade. How can you? How you can pretend that didn't happen? We _need_ to talk about this. It's tearing me apart."

My hands drop off the wheel, curling into claws against my jeans. "You wanna know _how_ I pretend, Tori?" I hiss, teeth gritted. "I act. Remember what that is? It's what we're at this fucking school to do. I act like nothing ever happened in that bathroom, because that's what I need to do. That's the role I need to play, okay? And you should play along Tori, because this isn't your fucking play, it's mine, and you are _not_ going to fuck it up for me."

Tori's face is flushed, nostrils flaring, and she sweeps her hair back roughly, fingers sliding through brunette locks. "That's not fair, Jade. You can't just expect me to play in your little game. You can't just do what we did and pretend it never happened. It doesn't work that way. You can only pretend for so long and then you have to deal with it. You told me to grow up? This isn't growing up. You don't run away from your problems and pretend they never happened, you deal with them. And this is a _huge _problem that I'm sick of looking away from. We have to talk ab-"

"You didn't care about talking when I was fucking you, did you Tori? You didn't ask questions then, did you? So why are you doing it now? Just let it go." I snarl, hand jerking onto the gearstick.

"I can't." Tori grabs my wrist, yanking me towards her. Her lips clash into mine, kiss hard and desperate, and I wonder if she'd been planning this, if she'd been thinking about this since the moment she saw me walking towards my car, or if this is a spur of the moment thing, brought on by frustration and anger. Either way, I find myself responding, relishing the anger in it, the desperation. There's something satisfying about degrading Vega, about making her break and whine for you, something delicious about stirring all that black silt in her heart that lies dormant, and swirling it into her blood. There's something gratifying about bringing her down to my level. And there's something torturous in realising that I want her too. There shouldn't be desperation in my kiss as well, but there is. There shouldn't be relief.

I nip at her lip, Tori parting them in surprise, and it's all too easy, all too practised to slip my tongue in to caress hers. It feels too good when Tori's hands scrape my ribs, crawling inside my shirt. It's too satisfying to tug her closer, to pant into her ear, and claw at her soft skin.

It's too easy to clamber into the back seat, fingers fumbling with the buttons to my jeans. Nothing about this is right, nothing about this is what I should want. I thought I dealt with this little crush on her, this little longing. I thought I got it all out when I fucked her the first time. But I can't deny the pooling heat in my stomach, the transparent feeling of my flushed skin. I can't deny that seeing Tori's lips swollen, her cheeks flushed, her chest heaving, makes me want to fuck her all over again. To be pressed against her, making her moan. And it pisses me off that I want this. That I can't stop myself even if I wanted to.

"You still wanna talk about this, Tori?" I taunt, as Tori climbs into the back seat with me, tongue running out over her lips.

"Why can't you treat me like a fucking person?"

I smirk at the curse word that slips out of Tori's mouth, fingertip tickling her chin, guiding her to my lips. It's a sharp, bitter kiss, and I break it cruelly. "Because you're nothing to me, Tori." The words burn as they escape, followed by a gasp as her teeth sink into my neck, bruising the skin.

She fuels her anger into sharp little nips, pattering the skin. She grunts as I force a hand down her shorts, her voice bleeding into her short gasps as I work my fingers over the front of her panties, strokes rough and uneven, wrist cramping. "_Why can't you like me?_" She sobs against my throat, cooling the damp skin, little spots starting to throb painfully where she's broken the skin.

I ignore her, breaking her shaking limbs out from under her, forcing her onto her back while she bucks beneath me, and I know it can't be comfortable. I don't want it to be. I want her to hurt, I want her to have this discomfort distracting her from the pleasure I'm going to eke out of her. I want her offbalance, because she should never feel comfortable with me. She should feel the same way I have to feel around her. If she's so concerned with fairness, she should know how fucking annoyed, how fucking scared, how fucking tempted I am whenever I see her. If Beck's the pleasure then Tori's the discomfort, always niggling at me, always distracting me from what I try to focus on.

I hook my hands in the hem of her shorts, working the tight denim down, panties going with it, and I wonder if the leather's cold against her, or if it's flesh-warm from the fading sun. I wonder if she even notices. Her eyes are wide, hips raised, and it's a pathetic sight, to see her wanting me, waiting for me. And I wonder briefly if it's just as pathetic that I can't leave her like this, that I can't break this thing I don't want off. That despite everything I've said, all the pretending, all the suppressing I've done, it's a relief to kiss her again, to touch her again. That despite how wrong I tell myself it is, despite how much I try to convince myself that it's not what I want, it still feels so right. And maybe if I let myself sink into it, if I didn't fight it so hard, my touches would be gentle, my kisses would be soft, and I'd savour every inch of her skin. But I can't. This rightness that's so wrong twists in my skin, rots me from the inside, seeps into my blood like a poison. It turns my caresses into pinches, my kisses into bites, my loving whispers into barbed taunts, because I hate this. I hate these conflicting feelings and I hate that she makes me feel them. I hate that she gives in so easily to me, I hate that she feels the same way. I'm all filled with hate, because the love makes me sick. I need the hate to survive. Because I can't love her, that's too much.

I skip the foreplay; that's never what this was about. My fingers force themselves into her roughly, and she's already so wet. I wonder if she's embarrassed by that, how wet she gets. I wonder if it feels like a betrayal from her body. Has it been building since we started talking?

I twist my fingers roughly, leaning down to whisper in her ear, Tori letting out a choked moan. "Hey Tori, I'm fucking nothing." I thrust into her again roughly, letting out a low laugh. "Get it?"

Her hips buck against me, eyes flickering shut, but I see the muscle in her cheek twitch. I know she heard me. I wonder if that eats at her pleasure too, if it drags away from it. Maybe it makes it better, to have these little barbs digging into her. Maybe it reminds her exactly who it is that's fucking her.

Tori's back arches up against me, shirt falling back, wrinkling under her ribs and exposing her tan stomach, slopes outlined by her tensed muscles. I lean forward, going to kiss her, but she turns her head to the side, my lips grazing her cheek instead. "_It's not fair._" She whispers through gritted teeth, and my fingers stutter in their motions, soaked with her, as her thumbs hook themselves in my undone jeans, working the material down past my hips. Whatever backbone there is in her, whatever steel rod of control that remains unbroken inside her is acting, is resisting this pleasure, and it should be overwhelming her, her eyes should be flickering closed, her teeth should be sinking into her lip, she should be moaning my name uncontrollably by now. But instead her hand is worming over my stomach, slipping into the gap she's left, working my jeans down just enough to give her access. My stomach shivers as her fingers dip into me, delving down and forcing themselves in, and I struggle to keep the moan that wants to escape me withheld. This isn't right. I'm supposed to be the one in control. I shouldn't-

I let out a soft moan, arm that supports me above her trembling, and she silences me with a kiss, breaths broken by our hot lips. "I just-" A hard thrust. "Wanted-" A gasp. "You-" A soft kiss. "To like me."

I can't stop myself from moving my hips forward, thrusting into her hand, needing her deeper, harder, faster, more, more, _more_. It's running up my spine and shaking my muscles and it shouldn't feel this good when it's not Beck, it shouldn't. I'm supposed to be the one doing this. She's supposed to be helpless. It's me who's filling her heart with silt, not her threading mine with gold. It's topsy turvy and hot and sweating, and Tori repeats her sentence brokenly, gasping with shards of voice in her breath, and then she's cut off entirely as she shudders, a sound like a sob ripped from her, and I half expect to hear tears in her broken lungs, half expect to see blood dotting her lips from this wound I keep widening.

And then it's my body betraying me, panting, "Please, Tori, _harder_." And every taunt and cruel tone is stripped from my voice, robbed by this need to just have her fuck me. It's Tori, and she's nothing, but it shouldn't feel this good when it's nothing. I shouldn't want this so badly. I shouldn't even be letting her touch me. It's easy to forget when you're not the one being touched. It's better that way. You can even tell yourself it's not cheating, after all, they're not doing anything with you. You're just doing something with them. But this... I can't forget this, and Tori knows it. That's why she's doing it. _It's not fair_. It's not fair she's the only one who can't pretend. It's not fair she's the only one being taunted and toyed with. It's not fair that I get to be in control. I always make the mistake of thinking she's spineless, just because she's sweet. There's something hard in her, that I've just come across with a clang.

She's watching almost dispassionately as I come with a shudder, vulnerability staining my voice, in every pant, every stifled moan as my muscles twitch and my hips keep thrusting, even as her hand slows. As it dies, this feeling comes over me. This horrible, aghast feeling. Not embarrassment, not shame. Not even guilt. No, this is a realisation.

Tori's something. She's something, and I can't deny that anymore. Not when I'm coating her hand and she's slick on mine.

I scramble back, tugging my jeans back up, and Tori's the calm one now. Like she took something from me, drank it from my lips, ripped it from me, and it strengthened her even as it weakened me. She lifts her hips, dragging her shorts up and buttoning them. She sits up, sliding to the door on her side, grey leather sticking to her thighs.

She opens it softly, a little hint of a smile on her lips as she glances back at me. "Nothing happened, right?" There's weariness in her voice, weariness and a hint of humour, like she saw all this coming from the beginning, from the moment she decided to stay behind and wait for me.

I nod at her unsteadily, running a tongue over my lips. "Nothing happened." The phrase doesn't comfort me like it should.

The door closes with a thunk, and then she's gone. I keep underestimating Tori. I keep thinking she's some weak girl, just because she gives in to my manipulations. Even when she strikes back, it's in self defence, not retaliation. But you can only push someone so far. She's got the power now. She's made me come, she's made me shiver, she's made me beg her to please, please touch me. And all of a sudden what was a fun, albeit risky game, has turned into something far more serious. And perhaps what's worst of all, part of me relishes that. To have that control wrested away from me.

Tori's something. All she wants is for me to like her. And she's succeeded. I like her far too much to ever admit. To her, to myself. She's got me, and she knows it now. I need her just as much as she needs me. It's incredibly dangerous. She can hurt me. She's got a hold of my heart, and maybe she doesn't realise to what extent. This game is far from over. It's still too enjoyable. Part of me wants to see whether Tori will tear me apart, or whether she'll hold me close and beg for me to love her. I'm not sure which I'd prefer. Either way is going to be bittersweet. It's not up to me how this game ends anymore. Tori's not just a pawn now.

**A/N: You know what I love? More than a gentle summer's breeze, recreated by an air conditioner because lol I'm not going outside, what are you? More than seeing a puppy bound across my television screen, with floppy ears and what I assume is a wet nose (my tv isn't HD. I guess at the puppy's state of health)?**

**Why reviews of course! They're like christmas without the family, so... perfect, in other words. Except I'm reverse santa, taking the presents of words away from you children, back to my cold fortress (my air conditioner is **_**strong)**_**.**

**So, please, think of reverse santa. Look in your heart, and leave a review under the tree.**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: Victorious is not mine, but look _I can make the words slanty._**

/

I hate her.

I hate her so much.

I put my phone away, still seeing the message that flashed across the screen.

_My house. After school._.

It bugs me that she has my number. I never gave it to her. There's this crawling urge to go flay Cat with my words, because I can't think of anyone else who'd just hand my number over like that. But I don't really care about Cat doing that. No, I'm angry over something else entirely.

I hate a lot of things. Most things, actually. People go on and on about the purity of love, but hatred is just as pure, just as clean. It sears through your veins and twitches in your brain. It cleanses. I like hating things, strange as it may seem. I'm black, or I'm white. There are no shades of grey in my world. I hate something, or I love it, and my world is mainly black. Tori resided in a dark pool, a shadow in the darkness. But now, that hatred isn't soothing me anymore. She's a smear of ash now, a shade of grey, and she's ruining the landscape of my life. She's complicating it. And I hate... I hate so many things, but what I hate most of all is how I can't turn her black again. I can't sink her back into the darkness. I can't uncomplicate her. I can't bleach her into love, and I can't stain her into hate. She's fucking everything up. And the more I try to ignore her, the more she stands out, the more she jars with everything else in my life.

Tori knows things are different now. She knows I don't hold all the cards anymore. I'm just bluffing, and she wears a smirk that says she's got a good hand. But I'm not about to fold just yet. She still tries to catch my eye, but it's not a furrowed brow digging above her nose, it's a little smile, like she knows that I can't help but look at her. That even when I ignore her, I'm still seeing her. And Beck, my shield, my wall, is itching and pricking at my back, and his arms are heavy around me, like the protective steel bars on a carnival ride. His stubble scratches my skin when I kiss him, his lips are too broad, too cold. His body is too hard, all edges and muscle. He's not the comfort I used to sink into, to make myself feel safe. All he does is make me aware that... that he's not Tori. That I'd much rather be in her arms, that I'd much rather be kissing her. And it makes me feel sick. Because Beck was so white, so pure, and now Tori's bleeding her grey into him, blurring his edges, and soon I wonder if I'll even be able to tell them apart. It's not that I'm starting to hate him, no, it's that she's swallowing him up. And I think she realises it on some level.

This message is proof of that. It's terse, and it's simple, and it drives me insane. Who does she think she is, to boss me around like that? Not even a question mark at the end, not even a please. I've seen a text she sent to Cat, just about a class project. It was filled with apologies and exclamation marks and it was barely a dozen words long. I wanted Tori to play the game, to act her part... well, she's doing it, but she's thrown out her script and this has turned into an improv. One that I'm not sure how it will end. And a little part of me likes that.

She possesses the same quality that attracted me to Beck. He never played my games, he never followed the twists and turns of my maze. He cut straight through, sharply, cleanly, to the very core of me, and only hate or love can result from that. With him, it was love. With Tori... it's both. There's a war inside me, and I don't know who's winning. It's being fought on the battleground of my heart, and it hurts like fuck.

I climb into my car after the school bell chimes, slinging my bag into the back seat. I hesitate, hands on the steering wheel, twisting to look behind me. My black leather bag is sprawled messily on the grey leather, strap cutting a swathe over the seat, and I remember, I remember what happened with her, in that very back seat. It crowds my brain, floods it with sound, with remembered sights, with snippets and flashes that make chemicals rush into my blood and send my heart pounding. Looking at that back seat, filled with ghosts of memory... it sends a hot throb through me, makes me press my legs together, remembering how Tori's hand brushed my stomach, how her fingers crept into my undone jeans, shaking but determined.

I turn back to face the front, teeth sinking into my bottom lip, hands flexing on the steering wheel, leather worn under my hands. I hate that she's in here. That she's infected this place, this one safe place I had. This chamber of my heart that kept me secluded. That she's fucking everywhere. There are ghosts of her all around, breathing over my shoulder, touching the small of my back, whispering "_Remember? Remember how it felt?"_, as if I could ever forget.

If I could go back, if I could go back to that bathroom, to that day, that everything broke, that everything became so complicated, I'd do it differently. I'd hurt her. I'd make her so scared of me, that she wouldn't dream, she wouldn't fucking dare to even mention it. I'd make it so she hated me too. Because hate, at least, is simple. Hate, at least, is pure. If hate is a fire, love is water, and when you mix them together, all you get is steam, steam that obscures everything, that makes things that were once so clear, that were consumed, that were drowned, that were covered by these feelings, locked behind this glass case of emotion... it makes them into shapes in the fog, and you don't know what you feel anymore. I hate Tori, and I love Beck. That's how it's supposed to be. She's the bitter taste in my mouth, and he's the sweet, and the two should never be combined. And this war is raging as I sit there, that message burning a hole in my pocket, that text from her. It singes my skin, it sears to the bone, and I'm stuck in the grey. The indecision is tearing me apart. But with all the force of a mortar dropping, all the wrenching pain of shrapnel piercing my heart, I'm stirred into action, key twisting in the ignition, car rumbling to life around me.

I drive. I drive until the sun sinks in the sky, and bleeds it's last breaths into the clouds, always skimming near her house, always one street away from her, and I turn, and I turn, but I never get further away, and I never get closer. My hand is fiddling with the knob of the radio, turning it louder, changing the station, lowering the volume, until finally I get sick of it and switch it off. The streetlights flicker on, casting cold pools of light among the dusk, car purring along the darkened streets. And somehow this darkness, this indecisive mixture of day and night, decides me, and I turn into her street, brakes letting out a low metallic scream and I pull to a stop in front of her house. It's dark but for one light, warm and glowing, spilling out from her living room, cutting neat edges from the night.

I climb out of my silenced car, chilly air thick with the day hitting me, a change from the canned air that circulated inside my car. It sits heavily in my lungs as I shut my car door, crickets falling quiet at the noise. I ignore the neatly swept pavers that run along Tori's driveway, instead crossing the neatly trimmed grass, blades crackling under my shoes, dry. One side of my internal battle has carved a bloody trench, secured a foothold, and it's driving me forward, making my actions decisive, and if only I knew which side it was.

I rap at her door hard enough to bruise my knuckles, even though there's a perfectly good doorbell, surrounded with neat ornamentation, curlicued iron flourishing around the button. That's the Vega's though. Tasteful, modest, but with little things, tiny symbols that show they're on the nicer side of ordinary. Trina's the sore, overly made-up thumb in this family.

I hear movement inside, jerking my arm back to my side, and it feels heavy and useless, like it's forgotten what it's like to be at my side, it's only memory of being forever outstretched. Bodies are stupid that way. They never feel how they should, and they should feel invisible. They shouldn't feel too tight, too loose, too ill-fitting, limbs awkward like a broken doll.

Tori's opens the door, phone in her hand, and I wonder what she was just about to do with it. Ring me? Text me? Break and beg me? I wish I'd waited a minute longer; it could've changed everything. As it is, I'm the one who's come begging, who's submitted to her demands, and that automatically gives her the upper hand.

She steps back as she opens the door, eyes running over me, dark and inscrutable, fingers closed around her phone as she gestures me inside. "I wasn't sure if you were coming."

But she doesn't seem surprised. She didn't even say hello. She ushers me inside, door shutting softly. Even if her voice is quiet, still unsure, her actions are speaking louder than her words. They always do. You learn, as an actor, to read body language, to project it, to mimic the unconscious actions we all do. And Tori's body is telling me she's in charge. I can only hope to make it stumble, to make it shake. To turn that confidence into submissiveness. To wrest the upper hand from her. I can't have her over me. I can't have her controlling me.

"I wasn't sure either." My arms fold up in front of me, a visual shield, a barred gate, weight shifting onto one foot. I sweep my eyes over Tori, as dismissively as I can. Even if I'm not confident, I can at least act it. The awkwardness between us is almost palpable, but I'm not about to try and lessen it. I'm not even sure why I came here. I'm not sure why I do anything anymore.

Tori sighs, lowering herself to her sofa, phone set on the coffee table. She sweeps a lock of brunette hair away from her face, looking up at me. "Look, Jade..."

And something about her tone just irritates me. It's like she's having to explain to a child, like she's having to give bad news. It reeks of false sympathy. My nails dig into my arms, spine straightening. "No, Tori, _you_ look. I'm sick of whatever little fucking game you're playing, okay?" I throw a hand out at her, Tori flinching. "What the fuck do you want from me?" I spit the words out, edges sharp, and Tori's silent for a moment, gaze lowered to her twisting hands.

"I don't know." She says finally, in a soft, weak voice.

I shake my head derisively, turning. "I'm out of here."

I'm about halfway to the door when her hand grabs my shoulder, her voice almost desperate. "_No_."

I stop, shrugging her hand off and turning to face her. I raise an eyebrow, and maybe if I'm hard enough, maybe if I'm mean enough, it'll cut her into too many pieces to bother me anymore. Maybe it'll remind her that _this_ is who I am, not the weak girl she saw in the car, panting her name.

"I want... I want you." Tori's mouth twists, arms hugging herself, and I can't help but let a smile steal across my face. Tori might have a spine, but she lays it bare entirely too often. She makes herself weak, because she can't stand to let someone go. She lets her emotion cloud her sense, and she's not much of an actress if she can't separate them. She's relinquished all control, and made all of this so easy for me. "Look, Jade-" And there it is again, that command, sheathed in a soft voice. "I don't know what's going on between us, but-"

"No, Tori. I'll tell you what's 'going on' between us." I sweeten my voice, making it as condescending as possible. I want this to cut deep. "I'm fucking you. That's all. And why? Because I know you'll let me." I take a step closer to her, smile on my face. "But the question is, Tori, why? Why are you letting me?" My hand finds a place on her shoulder, muscles stiff and held underneath it, and Tori's hugging herself so hard I'm waiting to hear a rib crack. I know my barbs found their way to her heart. They always do. And they dig and irritate, just the way I want them too. Even with my heart hardened by her weakness, her pitiableness, I still can't just break her. I still can't walk away. I still can't seem to keep my hands off her. Those warring sides in my heart have sworn a momentary truce, and focussed their efforts on her.

"I can't... I can't help it." Tori's voice is barely above a whisper. "I hate it."

I put a finger under her chin, lifting her lowered head, making her look at me, and by now I'm moved close enough for my breasts to brush hers, my hips to almost, _almost _touch against her. We're the same height, but I feel so much taller than her. She's making herself small, bending her spine, whereas I keep mine permanently straight. My gaze flicks from her eyes to her lips, and back again, pointed. "Do you want me to?" I say in an almost derisive tone, but somehow my thundering heart finds it's way into my words, and steals their edge, softens the blow. Part of me is still scared. Even if I have control, I'm still using it against her. I still can't tear myself away. I just can't. I can control her, but I can't seem to control myself.

Her shaped eyebrows furrow down, eyes flashing, and her expression is conflicted, pearls of teeth sinking into her lower lip for a moment, before letting the flesh slide away. "_Yes_." She breathes, and it comes out blood-stained and shivering. And even before the last echoes have died away, my lips are meeting hers, desperate, and she's responding just as breathlessly, arms unfolding to encircle me. Her lips are soft, and warm, and they feel so right, so achingly right to kiss. She's like a deep breath after a long dive in the deep, kept until your lungs are bursting, and she floods my blood like a drug, like some necessary thing, and my fingers seek her skin, push up under her shirt, because I need, _need_ to feel her bones. I need to trace the paths I tread in my head, to see if they're still the same as my memory. I need to sink into her, and it's terrifying. She may have lost control to me, but so have I. This game just keeps getting more dangerous.

/

**A/N: So this is a first. A chapter without smut. Golly gosh. I didn't even know I could do that. It's like discovering a superpower. The power to _not_ get people off. Wait... everyone has that though. So that would mean my power _is_ to get people off. MY POWERS HAVE BEEN STOLEN. WHO HAS DONE THIS?**

**IS IT THE LEAGUE OF CHASTITY? WITH THEIR MAGIC BELTS OF NON-SEXING?**

**This is not the first time we have clashed. I got twelve members of their organisation pregnant, and they've sort of held that against me.**

**YOU SHALL NOT PREVAIL, EVIL VILLAINS.**

**I will have you all. Especially you, sweetheart ;D**

**So review, preferably with the location of said League of Chastity, or just with something about the chapter. I don't know. Follow your heart~**


	4. Chapter 4

**Disclaimer: I do not possess Victorious. But I am possessing a lovely girl named Victoria. I made her head spin round, made her throw up a little. It's going well.**

**/**

"J-Jade-"

I make a soft noise of silence, shushing Tori's trembling lips, edged with gold from the light that spills underneath her door. My lips press where the light slices over her jaw, pattering over the golden skin until it dips into darkness again, the flesh of her throat hot and pulsing. I have to remind my teeth to bare themselves, to sink into her soft, sweet smelling skin, stained with some perfume that has a French name, and just a picture on the bottle. Something subdued, but light. Something that makes me sick.

I bite down hard, Tori whimpering, her hips trembling up against me, and I think for a moment what it is I'm doing. I'm not fucking her. I'm kissing her. My fingers are slipping over her heaving ribs, are skimming over her collarbones, her breasts, her cheek. They're lingering as if they don't know where to go, as if they haven't done this before. As if this were real. They're acting like nervous butterflies, feather light on her body, and it takes a conscious effort to rip away her clothes and dig my nails in. To remind myself that she's not some precious portrait, framed and hung. She's coarse clay to shape and mould and tear apart. She's not art yet, she's whatever I make her. And I want to make her into something broken, something crude.

I want this to be hard and fast, to be full of snapshots and panting and pain. I want it to be like the other times, when I held her down and pushed her back and forced her into pleasure. But this is a slow zoom, a lingering shot, and the pants are short and soft, and the pain is tacked on, an afterthought. Maybe it'd be easier if the room was brighter, if I couldn't forget even for a moment that this was Tori. But darkness makes it too easy to forget, too easy to throw sheets over that deep burning anger, that smouldering hatred, and starve it of oxygen.

I let out a low grunt, mouth pulling away from where it sucks at her collarbone, traces the hard, long ridge of bone, the material of her bra scratchy against me, some lacy thing that's still tasteful, but so fucking feminine. It's something I'd almost consider buying myself, if it wasn't on her. I swallow thickly, hating this taste of my heart. Hating everything. And it doesn't satisfy me like my hate usually does. It doesn't amuse me like I want it to. This hatred is forced, it's vomit thrown up on an empty stomach; just bitter bile and blood. I'm hating because it's the easiest thing to do, but it's getting harder and harder.

I force Tori's thighs apart brusquely, fingertips rough over her panties in their passage, eliciting a gasp.

"_Jade-_"

"Stop it." The words dribble from my mouth, barely a whisper, in croaking tones. I want her to stop saying my name. To stop me from remembering that I'm me and she's her, and that we're doing something I don't want to do. Something that I need to do.

My fingers bruise her thighs as I slip down between them, breath shivering out over Tori's black panties, a swathe of shadow cutting her blue-tinged skin into segments. And down here, legs are just legs, her skin is just skin. It's not _her _lips and _her _voice, and _her_ fingers gripping at me. It's just a body, and I slip the panties down to make it just a little more. At least here I can close my eyes. It's just me, and I'm dreaming, and I can blame my loss of control on that; the flaws in my logic. It's just a dream, and I can wake up and have it disintegrate into sodden pieces that bleed out the text, that turn the pictures into mush.

She tastes sweet. And it's an odd kind of sweating sweetness that melts on my tongue, that feels too familiar and completely foreign at the same time, that shakes hands with my spit and settles in under my tongue. She tastes like a mistake I keep making.

Her thighs tense and shiver under my hands, coiled fingers in my hair making me grunt as they twist tight, and it annoys me to find her still in charge. Because I'm the one on my knees, not her. And this need to keep my hatred strong is making me weak, and that perfect balance I had is drunk on conflict, shoved every which way until it stumbles and falls, clothes reeking, quietly weeping.

My fingernails sink into her toned thighs, planes of muscles slipping underneath the skin. My tongue flicks harder, longer, faster, as many complicated ways as I can think of, because the more I sink into this, the less I have to think about what it is I'm actually doing.

My name cuts her lips as it slices out, a lash on my back that makes me wince. My name. In her voice. My nails sink in deeper, breath burning in my nose, eyes shut tight. Tori tenses, muscles rippling under my hands, her hips starting to shake and tremor, back arching off the bed. I follow her shakily, mouth sparking broken contact with her until I draw back, gasping, Tori thick on my breath and smeared on my cheeks.

"J-Jade..." She pants, a hand held to her forehead, striped with gold.

_Stop. Stop saying my name like I'm yours_.

The words hiss in my head, gritted teeth and sprayed spittle, and it's only her, thick on tongue, that stoppers them. That keeps them held, a growl in my throat. I don't know what I expected from this, what I expected to feel. I must have had expectations, because I'm disappointed. I feel sick, and coiled, and ready to snap. I acted under some false logic that the third time would be the charm, best of three, the finishing stroke. Like this was some game of cat and mouse we were playing. But you know what happens at the end? The mouse dies. This isn't a game anymore. It hasn't been since she slipped her hand into my pants, since she had me panting her name. I've been acting like this thing we have has rules, but just saying them doesn't make them true. I've closed my eyes in the dark, and pretended it was my choice that there's no light.

Tori leans over me, long fingers tickling under my chin, her lips soft on my jaw, and her skin is warm and soft, and so easy to mould. But who's really the artist here? Who's left their mark carved in who?

"_Jade_." Tori breathes the word in my ear, fingers splayed on my chest, and it strikes a violent chord in my head, shaking loose that stopper that blocked my throat, that held this boiling acid in my lungs.

"Get off me." The words are low, whispered, barely a strummed string of a vocal chord. It's enough to make her hesitate though.

"Jade?"

I wince as if the word is a slap, rattling my skull and sending it throbbing. "Get the fuck off me Vega." My voice is flat, almost bored, and I'm sure it stings her as much as she stung me.

Her hands slide away, knees drawing up to cover her nakedness, to make her smaller, as if my words could miss her if only she made a tiny enough target. The teasing tone I've always had with her is gone. The fun from this game is gone. She's broken all the rules, and I've gotten sick of it and taken my ball home. It was a stupid game anyway.

"What's wrong?" Her voice is cautious, words murmured from held lips, her eyes shadowed with heavy brows, as if she could hide her feelings in her own facial features.

It's almost enough to make me laugh. As if there's one thing to pinpoint in this situation. "That's not how this goes, Tori."

Her eyebrows almost meet over the bridge of her nose, eyes shadowed in darkness as I raise myself to my feet. "So how does this go?" Her arms cross over her drawn up knees, skin bruised black by the dark, and maybe this is just a game after all, but Tori doesn't know the rules either.

"You don't get to touch me." The words slip from my mouth, lips held tight, and if I'm a puppet, than all my strings all pulled tight, and I can't move.

Tori runs a tired hand through her messy hair, lips dipping out of the light, tightening. "Why are you doing this?" She shakes her head a little, shoulders jumping gracefully, a dip of shadow in her collarbone. "Do you hate me? Do you love me? What do you want, Jade? Why are you doing this to me?" There's a note of hopeless pleading, like she already knows I'm not going to tell her. But what she doesn't know is it's because I can't tell her. I don't even know myself. All the reasons I held for the first time, all the explanations that made so much sense, are all dust now. It was only ever supposed to be once, just so I could know. So I could make myself hate her, and make her hate me back. It was only ever supposed to be once, but I can't stop. I haven't found what I'm looking for, I _don't_ know, and every 'logical' step my mind took was bullshit.

"Because I can, Vega." I spit the words out, still dripping with her taste.

"That's not an answer." The words slide out from gritted teeth, and I can almost hear them crumble. "Jade, just... just tell me why. Please?"

If she could just stay hard, then I could spark off her, could set the fire in my gut burning, could sear all these spiderwebs of conflict that line my insides. But she melts before me every time, and my flame just steams and obscures things even more. "I don't-" Granite slides from my tongue, scraping my lips, and I finish the heavy sentence in my head, feeling the words weigh me down. _I don't hate you_. I lick my lips, taste sweet, and say something easier. "I shouldn't have come here."

"No." It's a whisper, delivered to her huddled knees, slipped into the darkness like a sigh. "You shouldn't have."

And I'm angry at her for giving in to this, for being so pliable. If she'd just fight me back, if she'd just demand a goddamn answer, then maybe we could burn together, and turn to ash. Maybe we could scorch each other until we were burned to skeletal husks, and there was nothing left. Maybe things could be finished, clearcut and clean. But she keeps giving, and giving. She makes herself my sacrifice, because she can't stand to burn. And I can't bring myself to deliver a killing blow to this cowering mess. I can't bring myself to hate her like I should, like I want to.

"I just... I just thought..."

"What? What did you think Tori?" I throw my hands out, gesturing to some invisible audience, sick of her slow, almost apologetic tone.

She turns her gaze to me, eyes narrowed, a curl in her lip. "I thought this time would be different."

If I expected hate to result from this, maybe she be expected love, but be were both looking for an end. A resolution to this twisting tale, that grows more and more convoluted with every moment that passes.

I stoop down and pick up the crumpled dark pile that's my t-shirt, taking a shuddered breath as it masks my face. It feels wrong, like it doesn't fit, like Tori's hands have reshaped my body into something else, something twisted, and I wonder again who's the artist here. "I thought it would be too." A whisper, tinkling and fragile, edged with a melancholy hope that never should've escaped me.

Tori's head jerks towards me, eyebrows arrowed.

I button my jeans, throwing my shoulders back. "This is over, Tori. I don't love you, and I'm sick of this." My voice possesses it's usual strident tone, that finely honed edge that cuts so easily, Tori wincing under it's slash. "Don't call me, Vega."

I don't expect her to chase after me as I leave. And she doesn't. I don't expect my hands to shake as they open my car door, handle slick with dew. But they do. I don't expect to feel nothing as I drive home, gaze ahead on the wanly lit roads. But I don't. I don't expect to break down as I pull into my driveway, shivering in the driver's seat. But I do.

I don't expect her to call me. But she does.

/

**A/N: You know what's great? What's worth like, two kittens and a stick of butter?**

**A review.**

**Although the value does differ depending on your country. I tried to get a goat with one once, but they wouldn't take it. I had to sing a whole damn song. And then that goat wouldn't even eat all my tin cans. I suppose I could have just bought another recycling bin, but the store is like, twenty minutes away, and I was already going to Turkey. All that goat has done is eat, bleat, and die.**

**Turns out tin cans kill goats.**

**So review, so I can buy a better, stronger goat.**


	5. Chapter 5

**Disclaimer: Victorious is not owned by me, or my seventeen cats, all of whom are named 'Mr. Meow'. Even the girls.**

**/**

"Who was that?"

I toss my phone onto Beck's table, case hissing over the lacquered wood. "Vega." I sit with my back to him, trying to split my shoulderblades from where they're hunched up, drawstrings of my heart pulled tight. Tori's voice was wandering and lost, full of pauses and edges. She's confused. She draws her emotions about her like a blanket, lets them coat her until she's sweating and groggy, hair damp. I've safely packed mine away. Better to be cold than smothered.

"What did she want?" It's an innocent question from Beck, where he's sprawled out on his bed, hands behind his messy black hair, button down shirt opened, showing his flat, smooth torso. His skin is almost the colour of Tori's. But he smells like musk and dark curves, where she's floral and melting tones, and I shouldn't be making comparisons.

"She's under the misguided impression that we're friends." My stomach churns sickly, palms sweating. _Why are you doing this?_ But my voice is steady, bored. Singing isn't the only time I control it. I lay back, Beck twisting to accommodate me. My side of the conversation consisted of one word answers, terse and tight, until Tori's long ellipse filled sentences turned to sighs and eventually the sound of a dialtone. She wants to talk about it. Us.

Beck looks at me, dark brows heavy over his eyes. "You should be nicer to her. She's done a lot for you, you know." He pokes me in the stomach teasingly. "It wouldn't kill you to be nice to her." He grins that easy smile I fell in love with, and I twist the tiny smile that threatens to emerge into a pout, looking away from him.

"It might." My tone is petulant, that of a child who begrudgingly admits that _maybe_ broccoli isn't the worst thing ever. There's the child that comes out only when Beck's here, cowering in the maze that only he's found his way to the centre of. But Tori's getting closer every time I see her. Every time she says my name in a voice edged with pleasure, with conflict. A part of me truly believes it might kill me to be nice to her. "I'm nice to you. That's enough."

Beck holds up his hands in protest. "Whoa, whoa. Since when have you been nice to me?"

I raise a studded eyebrow at him, leaning in. "Oh, so you don't think this is nice?" His mouth is cold and minty, his skin warm and hard, and he kisses me with a sureness that I used to find attractive. He knows me, inside and out. His teeth scrape my lip, a dance we've done before. Step left, step right, turn and shuffle. His hands find their perfect places, his mouth traces trails travelled before. His body moves in a rhythm that's neither too slow nor too fast. Controlled. Sure. This is what I like. This is what I liked.

My nails find a place in his bare back. My hips raise to meet his, and a smile drips from his lips, our torsos pressed together. He envelops me. His arms, his legs, his body a construct around me. A cage, locking me in. The friction is there, rubbing a fire in my nerves that grows slowly more intense. But my mind is elsewhere. It's hidden itself under a blanket with a torch, reading a diary of memories.

Tori's never sure. When she kisses me it's desperate, and hard, breaths taken only for necessity. Her mouth is hot and melting, gasping, and her hands cling to me like she's scared to let me go. Like she's afraid I'll fly away. Her skin is soft and yielding, easily marked. She's scared to kiss me and scared not to. She's out of control, and when I'm with her, I am too. And too often we clash and miss and fumble, and stutter over our touches, but somehow that desperation only heightens it. There's urgency and fear. It's fight or flight, but we're stuck in the middle.

Beck grunts softly, his lips pressing to my neck, scent of his cologne wafting into my panting mouth, drawn down into my lungs. And it doesn't make my heart beat faster. My voice makes all the right sounds, moans and pants, but his name stays trapped in my throat, jostling with another. He shudders finally, a hard thrust and groan followed by gentle kisses and soft pants, his sweating body heavy against mine. "That _was_ nice." He says with a loose smile, dropping another light kiss on my lips, his breaths deep and slowing. And if this is what we mean by nice, then I guess I'm already being more than kind to Tori.

I trace my eyes along his sharp collarbone, skin falling gracefully away from it. I'm waiting, breath held in my clenched lungs, but the gradual unwinding of muscles that follows doesn't come. That easy weariness, that liquid languor isn't there. I'm still coiled tight, and all of a sudden Beck is too hot, too heavy, and I can't breathe.

"Get off me." My hands push at his broad shoulders, palms pressed to those long collarbones. "You're suffocating me."

Beck acquiesces, rolling beside me, his elbow digging into the bed, propping his head up. "Sorry. You okay?" He raises an eyebrow, his eyes dark and deep. They're blacker than Tori's, but just as inscrutable.

"Yeah. I'm peachy." I sit up, sweat cooling on my stomach, slick and clammy. "I'm gonna grab us coffees."

Beck watches me dress, eyes running the ridges of my limbs. "You sure you're okay?"

I turn to him, hands sweeping my hair out from under my collar, jacket shrugged on. "Yeah." I twist my mouth for a second, gaze narrowed at his dusty carpet. "You love me?" That child is crying out, arms outspread. Mazes work both ways. Just because you get in, doesn't mean you always know how to get out. It's lonely in a maze no one can get through.

Beck's lips drop the words in a low, strong voice, warm and rumbling. "I love you. Get me a latte?"

I nod, rolling my eyes. "Sure. I'll be back."

The door to my car shuts heavily, grey leather slightly cool, leaf littered light spattering the car. I smell like Beck's cologne. And my backseat smells like Tori's perfume. There's no safe place for me anymore. I just... I just wish I didn't need people, sometimes. I hate so many of them. It'd be easier to just be without anyone else entirely. Stick to cats, or the occasional annoying bird. But I need people. It's a duality I hate, and it turns inward on myself. I can't stop myself from loving Beck, I can't stop myself from fucking Tori. I can't stop myself from wanting both of them. I can barely even stop myself from acting on it. Because I don't want Tori. But I do. The emotion comes out as violence, as anger, as harsh words and desperate kisses, and whispers that cut like broken glass.

It's everything dirty and primal and base. It's pounding blood and racing hearts and adrenaline and something hot and churning in my gut. And with Beck it isn't like that. It's okay. Beck is safe. It's warm and slow and easy. If Beck is a stream, then Tori is rapids, full of sharp rocks and long drops. But you don't see people sailing streams for fun.

I drive to Starbucks on autopilot, a sheet thrown over the machinery of my mind. It's ticking away, gears grinding, but I've muted the noise and turned my eyes away from it. Let it cogitate on its own. I focus instead on the low music playing over my stereo, deep thudding beats and frenetic guitars, accompanied by an oddly sweet voice, weaving in between the hard rhythms like a thread of gold. Sometimes I love music more than I could ever love a person. It speaks to me like no one ever has. It whispers more sincerely, listens more intently, and maybe my mistake is I keep looking for that in people. That same soul-staring intensity. But it's just a three minute song, playing a beat with the hormones in my brain. It isn't made for me, and the people who made it don't care if I listen. Chances are, I'd hate them if I ever met them anyway. The duality again. Of both loving and hating something at the same time. It's bittersweet, but so addictive.

I come to a jolting halt at a red light, startled into awareness, hands flexing on the leather of the wheel. I switch the radio off, hissing of the tires the only sound as I travel. I pull into the parking lot, slipping into a narrow space near the front of the coffee shop. I rustle in my handbag, pulling out a half-empty bottle of perfume and obliterating Beck's scent, hands smoothing my hair out. The barista is bored and curt, voice nasal, nametag dangling off the green apron. _Dante_. Of course. Fake pretentious name for a fake pretentious place. I'd lift my lip to sneer, but I can't build the resentment at the moment. I'd be just as bored if I were them, and probably even ruder. I survey the audience, hissing of steam and clacking of metal behind me as I lean against the counter, a thin-lipped, blonde soccer mom shuffling past me on the way to get more sweetener, eyes narrowed suspiciously at me. There's your usual aspiring writers, who get a bigger sense of accomplishment from having people watch them write than they from publishing anything of worth. The quiet middle-aged man with slightly ruffled hair, briefcase slung at his feet, both hands wrapped around a coffee, enjoying his solitude before going home to his needy family. The gaggle of high school girls, overly frenetic in their emotions, mouths constantly agape in ghoulish grins.

I find myself trying to slide Tori into one of these groups, into one of these people I hate. But she doesn't fit. I've gone deeper than just the surface of her, and that was my first mistake. Humanising her. It's so easy to hate people when you can forget they're human, as contradictory as it sounds. You stay in the shallows, you can see right to the bottom. But the further in you wade, the more murky it gets, and soon you're finding coral reefs and paint-splashed fish and sunken ships, and people become both wonderful and tragic. But the deeper you go, the greater the risk of drowning, and I'm close to slipping under with Tori.

"West?"

I turn at the sound of the blunt voice bludgeoning the back of my neck, coffees neatly perched on the counter. "Thanks."

I'm almost into my car when I hear my message tone, muffled by my handbag. I slip the coffees into my drink holders, steam wafting from them gently. I jab myself on a nail file, rifling through my bag, swearing harshly and yanking out my phone.

_Please talk to me_. _:(_

Tori. I thought I'd washed her off with Beck, wiped her pleading words off me with his heavy touch. But she's infected me again, slipped in through cuts I leave open, just so I can breathe. I can feel her in me, with a feather touch. _Please, please, please_. So submissive, so pathetic. She dulls her edge, and it infuriates me. Cat breaks because she's already broken. She doesn't realise she can unsheath her sword. Tori breaks because she's scared. She doesn't want to lose anyone. Ever the diplomat. She'll throw her blade down and count on mercy.

And it works.

I throw a quick glance at the steaming coffees, giving my phone a frustrated squeeze.

_Meet me in the park near your house._

I press 'send' with a groan, slamming the phone against the wheel. I can't handle the duality here, because if I hate myself, then I love her. But I certainly don't love myself at the moment. You can't take the sweet without the bitter, and it's acid on my tongue as I twist the key to rumbling life.

/

**A/N: I know what you're thinking. Not because I'm psychic, but because you usually tell me in reviews, and this is just me being pre-emptive because shows like Medium and Ghost Whisperer and that thing where psychics find bodies or something but usually don't have told me that premonition and unholy knowledge is _in_.**

**What you're thinking is: _Where be my Jori lovin'. I came here for tittyboobs, not talkythings_.**

**And you're right. There _were _a lot of talkythings this chapter. And some heterosexual lovin'. So basically, this is the antithesis of what you want.**

**BECAUSE I'M A REBEL AND I CAN DO WHAT I WANT, MOM.**

**But I promise tittyboobs next chapter, scout's honour.**

**PS. I was never a scout so my promise means nothing.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer: Victorious, much like a lasershark, is not mine, but I'm sure that if I had enough money, I could get both.**

**/**

There's something pleasant about the park at night. Maybe it's the darkness, making all the swingsets, the slides, into sinister figures of warped metal and creaking hinges. Maybe it's the complete lack of children, only a few lost toys to say there were ever there. A toy truck on it's side in the sandpit, half-buried. A doll with her hair pulled out, propped against the bottom of the slide with the care of a child. _Wait here_.

It's probably the eeriness of it all. Like being in an abandoned hospital, or a cemetery during a thunderstorm. Something's not quite right, and it puts your spine to flexing, your skin to crawling. It's a feeling I enjoy.

I'm sitting on the cold metal of the Merry Go Round, coffees steaming beside me. I take a sip of mine, warming my hands. The nights are mild here, but the steel is cold. It's an old park, on the edge of being dilapidated. It explains the Merry Go Round. They don't put them in many parks any more. Too dangerous. I say injury's good for a kid. Builds character.

Hazelnut plays over the back of my tongue as the hot liquid swishes around my mouth. I breathe in the fragrant steam before swallowing, letting out a sigh straight after. What am I doing?

I'm waiting for Tori.

Well that was easy, but the better question is why? Why am I here and not with Beck? Why am I waiting in the cold for a girl I don't want to see, when I could be snuggled up with Beck, watching an old movie? Why is that even a choice? Since when has Tori ever come above anything?

_Since you fucked her._

I take another sip of my coffee. It made her real. It made me real. Captured those buzzing feelings I had in a jar and shoved them in my chest, and now they can't escape. They just beat against the glass and remind me they're real, and that I have to let them out sometime or they'll die and rot inside me. But would that be such a bad thing?

A snapped twig. My head jerks up, coffee twitching in my hand.

"Hey. It's me."

There was a time when hearing her voice was a dread, not an anticipation. "Hey."

Tori pads into view, dressed in tight denim jeans and a horizontally striped purple and black top. Clothes that would almost suit me. I don't like it.

I jerk a thumb next to me. "I got you coffee."

She pauses, surprised. "Thanks."

She picks it up before taking its place, rusty iron bar arcing between us, separating us into segments. Her hands wrap around the cup, holding it like it's precious. And I guess warmth is when you don't have it.

We sit there in silence for a bit, my boot tapping the ground impatiently until finally I have to break it. "Well?"

Tori glances over at me. "'Well' what?"

"You wanted to talk, so talk. I'm listening."

"Here?" Tori glances around doubtfully at the darkened park, trees rustling softly around the edges.

I prop my head on a hand, elbow digging into a drawn up knee. "It's safer."

She doesn't ask me what I mean by that, either because she gets it, or she feels stupid for not getting it. It's not just the seclusion, the being away from earshot and eyesight. It's that I can't very well fuck her in a park. And if I can't see her, I can't want her. Darkness is a friend. People just get scared from the reliability, from the truths it hides from you, to protect you. But some people's truths are scarier than others. Monsters are all in your head, and that's a completely different darkness. You can never light that up.

"I just..." Tori sets the coffee down with a sigh, black converse slipping over each other nervously. "I can't stop thinking about you. I don't know what to do."

Sometimes I wish I smoked. So I could put everything into it. Hide my thoughts with a frown at the lit cigarette, obliterate memories with the taste of tobacco. Have smoke fill me, and bleed through my veins, through my lungs. To give me something to focus on, instead of this girl beside me, throwing her sword away again. "Try harder." I say sardonically, eyes fixed on my tented hands.

"I don't want to."

I lift myself to my feet in a fluid motion, tortured squeal sounding from the Merry Go Round as it jerks, just a little. "Why?"

Tori stands too, more unsteadily, a hand perched for support on the Merry Go Round. Now that's dangerous. "It hurts to think about you Jade. To think about your face, and your voice and everything. It hurts more than I thought it could. But it feels good too." Tori turns away a little, gazing down at the Merry Go Round. "I remember when I was a kid, I'd run and run and run. I didn't even know where I was going. I'd just head straight-" She throws an arm out, an arrow, like she's pointing out some track I can't see. "Until I couldn't run anymore, and it hurt just to breathe."

"Well that's stupid."

She turns to me. "I did it so I could feel my heart beating, so I could feel it pounding in my chest and pumping through my veins. I did it so I could feel hot and sweaty and more alive than anyone else. I used to swear I could taste blood in every breath, I'd run so hard. And it's like that with you, Jade. You make me feel so alive, so aware of everything, but you make me feel like shit, too. Like I'm falling apart."

I shrug helplessly, shadowed by the dark. "What do you want me to do?"

Tori's hand flies into her hair, head bowing. "I want to know you give a shit. I want to know that it hurts you too. That you're running with me. Tell me this is real, that this isn't just some sick game you're playing. Tell me that you care." Her voice is exasperating, pleading. She just wants to mean something to me, I realise. She just wants to know she hasn't lost this game.

"And what if I do care?" I say in a cautious voice, arms folded tight around me. "What then? We're 'happily-forever-after'? We just skip off into the sunset, arm in arm?" The words drip from my sneering lips. "Don't be so naiive."

Tori steps closer, hands by her side, palms turned out. "We don't have to be happy. We don't have to be anything. I just... I wanted to know if we could be." She sways slightly, hands twitching. "If things were different."

"They're not. I don't care." My hands slip free from where they're folded, dropping to my sides.

Tori takes another step closer, her niggling perfume slipping into my lungs, and taking the taste of coffee out of my mouth.

"I don't give a fuck about you Vega."

Tori takes another step, her face inches from mine, a denim clad hip brushing me, and the urge that tells me to push her away doesn't quite make it to my hands. "I don't believe you."

"What's it take for you to get it through your thick skull? I couldn't care less about you. Just _fuck off, Tori!_"

Her fingers steal over my shirt, hovering over my heart. "I can feel your heartbeat." And all this time I thought she threw away her sword. I didn't even see the dagger she kept.

"I'm sick of fucking... of fucking..." My breath sobs out, Tori's eyes moving from where her hand rests to my face, pupils hidden in the dark chocolate of her iris'. "_Christ, Tori_."

Her lips taste like coffee. Chai Latte, Beck's drink of choice. I've tasted it on him a thousand times. And it feels wrong, and sick, and right to taste it on Tori. It feels wrong to have her soft, fragile cheekbone, her slight jaw under my hand instead of Beck's broad, edged face. It feels wrong to have my heart pound so hard in my body it rattles my bones, shakes my breath loose. It feels wrong that I didn't feel this with Beck earlier, that I've never felt this with Beck. It feels wrong that my brain doesn't match up with my heart. It feels wrong that I give a fuck.

I break away to take a breath, shuddering on my tongue, Tori's lips clashing back against mine desperately, her hands bruising my ribs. "Tell me-" She gasps, her lips drawn back just enough to speak. "If things were different." She shivers, kissing me again, and I see our feet slapping the pavement together, screams of childish laughter as we race to a finish line that doesn't exist, breath burning our lungs. "Tell me you care, please. Please, Jade. Tell me this isn't just a game. I know it's not, I _know_." There's salt in her kisses now, breaking between her words. Her bravery was all bravado. She's turned the dagger on herself; a willing sacrifice. And part of me wants to soothe her, to say _yes yes we could be together, if only if only_. But my heart doesn't control my words, my brain does, and it's so much smarter than an urge.

"I don't know. Am I winning?" I laugh against her teeth, breathless, and she pulls back, cheeks shining.

She gives her head an incredulous shake. "How can you?" Her voice is thick, lips swollen and nose growing muffled.

"It's easy." I spread a grin across my numb lips.

"How can you _lie?_"

The smile drops away.

"What do you get from this, Jade? What do you get from these lies? Does it make you feel like this is nothing? You kissed me then, Jade. You wanted to. And don't tell me it's all bullshit, and you're doing it for kicks. I know you're not. You would've stopped by now. You wouldn't have asked me to come here. So tell me, what do you get from this? From pretending you don't care?"

"I get something I never wanted. You're nothing, Tori, and you have to stay that way, okay? Whatever little fantasy you've built up in your head, whatever you think I am, I'm not. I can't, Tori. I can't do this."

She shrugs, swiping a tear away. "Then why don't you stop?" Her voice is hopeless, plaintive. "Why don't you stop doing this?"

"Because you're right. And you can't _be _right." I run a hand through my hair, exasperated. "I can't do this." I have to get out of here. My armour's split a million leaks, and I didn't even notice Tori stabbing me, over and over.

Her hand stops my shoulder. "Don't go."

I feel like laughing, but I know that if I did it'd come out high-pitched and hysterical. A panicked laugh. "You think you can tell me what to do, Vega?"

She shakes her head. "But I can ask. Please, just stay for a bit."

"Why?"

"So we can pretend things are different, just for a little while."

"Why do you keep trying?" She baffles me. I've stabbed at her over and over with my words, but I can't penetrate her skull. I've knocked her back, again and again. I've hurt her more than I could ever stand to be hurt, more than I'd ever let someone hurt me, and she still won't tell me to fuck off. She still won't cut the bonds I've wrapped around her, even though her hands are swelled and purple.

"Because I give a shit. Because it hurts, but it feels good too."

There's an ache in my chest, a frenzy in those buzzing bugs, that tells me to stay. To sit in the swings and hold her hand, and pretend for just a little while that we're different people. That I'm not Jade and she's not Tori. That we're just two people who grew to care about each other naturally. That we're normal, and not this fucked up twisted mess that we are. But to do that would be to hack a hole into the temple of my mind, to have a beam of sunshine break through. A hole I can't patch, that'd always show me how things could've been. And I can't have that light showing how dusty things really are in me. How dilapidated. I can't for a moment think of her like she could've been something.

I shrug her hand off.

"I can't."

/

**A/N: And so it begins. Or ends, rather. This chapter, that is. But every end of a chapter is the beginning to another, right?**

**Unless it's the last one. Then there's only disappointment and chocolate. And catsnuggles.**

**Hey. Guess what though.**

**I lied. There weren't any tittyboobs in this chapter either!**

**I don't know about you, but that's a pretty ribald practical joke. Almost as funny as the time that lady asked me if that milk was chocolate, and I said yes, but it wasn't! It was plain!**

**And then I pushed her down a flight of stairs.**

**Because what am I, a dairy farmer? Bitch be asking me 'bout milk. **

**But don't worry, she didn't break any bones.**

**Because of the calcium.**

**Drink your milk, kids.**

**Also it was breastmilk.**


	7. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer: I am not owned by Victorious.**

/

"Jade, what's- are you- what's going on with you and Tori?"

A voice cracks and stutters its way into my ears, followed by a clanking and scrabbling as Robbie struggles his way onto the seat beside me, knees nudging the table, heel rolling onto the metal seat. The boy's all loose joints and lanky bones, more of a puppet in form than Rex is. At least he's mercifully absent.

I suppose I should feel some sort of surprise that Robbie's here. If I'm cutting class, that means he must be too. It's not his style; he needs as much companionship and attention as he can wrangle, and class is about the only way he can get that, even begrudgingly.

I take a sip of my cooling coffee, hands playing over the cup as it's set back down on the table. "Leave me alone, Robbie."

A finger pushes his glasses further up his nose, tongue darting out to lick nervous lips. "No." He swallows, Adam's Apple bobbing, a floater in his throat. "Tori's my friend, Jade, and if-"

"She doesn't like you. No one likes you, Robbie. Not even Rex, and you control him. You can't even make yourself like you, Shapiro."

He sits there for a moment, hands curled in his lap, face hidden under his curly dark hair. I wonder if there are tears swelling in his eyes, picking at his throat, or if it's anger that burns the edges of his nostrils, that sharpens his tongue. Either way, he'll keep it inside. He'll let it fester and rot before he'll ever drag how he really feels out into the light. I prefer it that way. Not just with him, but with everyone. It's cleaner, it's colder, and it's a hell of a lot less messy. You're not spilt everywhere, emotions and memories and relationships all swirled and mixed together. You're defined. You've got borders separating everything, a time and a place for all that shit. You're an artist's palette that never mixes, that never has a paintbrush dip into you and fuck everything up.

Tori's been painting for years. It's no wonder that Robbie saw how chaotic her art was. He's sensitive, even if it kills him that he is. He's a connoisseur of misery, and Tori's has aged particularly well. It's been weeks since that little park incident. I think it was the last straw for her, the one that snapped her proverbial camel's back, and she's been dragging her dead legs ever since. She looks at me like I'm a black hole that's sucking everything in, all light, all sound, everything she is. I see her start to collapse, see her buckle and shake before she tears her eyes away and glues everything back in place. Until she looks again. And all the differences are buzzing in her head, all the possibilities of what could've been. How we could've been, if only so many things were different, if only things weren't how they are. Possibilities will kill you. They swarm like bees around you, and each one stings so sharply before it dies. But there's always another one to take its place.

"I know something's going on." Robbie speaks from beneath his lowered head, voice soft but determined. "I saw you... and her. Or at least... I think-" His voice drops even lower, thin hands running through his curls. "I think I did. I was in the bushes, the rhododendron near the glass doors there, you know?" He glances over at me for confirmation, only to be met by a glowering glare. "I thought I saw you... and I thought I saw _her-_" He drags his hands from his hair, locking them together in a way that's supposed to mean something to me.

"What do you _think_ you saw, Robbie?"

"She loves you. And maybe you do t-"

"Shut it, Shapiro." I hiss, cutting off his hesitant words. "What do you want from me? Are you trying to blackmail me? Are you trying to make me feel bad? Why the fuck did you come here Robbie? Why?"

He picks at a flake of paint on the table, narrow shoulders hunched together. "I know nobody likes me." He lets out a long breath. "But Beck, and Andre, and Cat, and you and Tori... you hate me a little less than everyone else. Did you ever notice that when you're all happy, I'm not as stupid as usual? I'm not as awkward, or just... just- you guys are the best thing I have."

"Cry me a river, Shapiro. You still haven't answered my question."

He meets my gaze finally, face solemn. "If you mess things up with Tori, then she leaves. Or you leave. And if you leave, Beck leaves, and nobody's happy anymore. Everyone drifts off on their own separate ways, and I'm left by myself, and it's junior high all over again." Robbie sighs, sitting up straighter, and I wonder for a moment how much it's cost him to come to talk to me. In all the time that I've known him, I would never have thought he'd have this in him. I never thought he'd let his voice escape from where it slumbered in his throat, plagued by nightmares he could never speak.

He takes a deep breath, spine straightening further, like he's drawing strength from the speckled sunlight that bleaches his skin. "I don't like you Jade. I like Tori. And I don't know if you like her too, or you were just playing one of your games with her, but either way, you've got to fix this."

"And why would I want to fix anything with Vega? What if I like her broken?"

"You'll do it because you're hurting too. I see it everytime you look at her. I notice because it's the only time I've seen you show something other than anger or disgust. Whatever it is that happened between you two, you need to sort it out. I don't wanna be alone again, Jade. I don't want to see us all fall apart because you... because you couldn't see what was right in front of you."

"The only thing in front of me is a spineless little worm, who can't handle being on his own." I spit, fingers tightened around my cup of coffee.

Robbie's eyes widen behind his thick glasses, breath indrawn. His thick brows tug together, diving down over the bridge of his nose before slackening, softening. "You're right." He pushes himself up, standing, plaid shirt loose around his slim frame. "But at least I can admit it." He walks away with as much dignity as he can muster, but it's not long before his shoulders cave again, hunching him forward, and he's back to the Robbie he was before he sat down. I doubt I'll ever see that Robbie he was again. It cost him too much. He's the kind of person that replays everything they've ever said in their head, searching again and again until they find the mistakes they've made. The kind of person that regrets everything they say, even if it's the most innocuous thing. He'll torture himself tonight, trip over every word until he's bruised and bleeding.

I try to push away his words, shoulders rolling, but they buzz and hum and tunnel into my flesh. And the one that finds it's way deepest is the thing he never said at all. That I'm just like him, unable to be alone. Whether he meant to imply it or not, it echoed in the air. It's true, I can't be alone. I hate being around people, but I just end up hating myself when I'm not. It's so easy to hate people. They're too loud, or they're too quiet, or they're boring, or they try too hard to be funny. It's easy to throw stones at the surface, because you don't have to watch them sink. All you have to see is the splash. The biggest mistake I ever made was watching myself sink into Tori. I reached the very bottom of her, and it's nothing like the surface at all. You can't hate all of someone. If you find at least one thing to like, you can't hate them completely. If you don't get to know them, you reduce that risk. And I don't hate Tori. I don't hate her at all.

I don't know how I feel about her, but it's kept me out of class, and it's kept me watching her and it's kept me trying and trying _and trying_ to hate her again, like an engine that refuses to sputter to life. It just refuses to catch. Without that rumbling anger, that growling hatred, there's nothing but silence, and it's filled with things I don't want to hear.

I think about it.

About what it would be like, if things were different.

If Tori and I grew up together, and slowly fell in love.

If I met her by chance someday, and fell instantly for her.

If I'd never met her at all.

It's the most useless part of sentience, being able to imagine. You see things that never were, never can or will be, yet somehow those imaginings mean more than reality does. Sometimes you want so badly what you can never have.

The bell chimes, startling me from my reverie, and I stand, slinging my bag over my shoulder. I head to my car. There's no point staying at school today. I can't face them. The people that Robbie values so much, even though they think he's worthless. But people hold onto worthless things all the time, out of sentiment.

I climb into my car, fighting against the urge that tells me to glance into my backseat. To scan the grey leather for some kind of sign of what happened. Like there's a ghost of us haunting the fabric, breathed into its very stitching. But there isn't any. There's nothing to show that we were ever something. Nothing but her and me, and all we do is lie.

I tell myself she's getting better. That she can look at me longer and longer these days, that she holds herself higher. I convince myself that it wasn't much more than a passing crush. Tori's given to passion, but she peters out quickly. I tell myself it was never anything real, that all it was were emotions that got out of hand. But if emotions aren't real, what is? I can reel off a whole list of facts as to why I'm with Beck, but none of them add up to love. Proof doesn't work when it comes to feelings, and that's part of why I hate them. And in my more bitter times, I'm aware of the irony of that, hating emotions so strongly when hatred is just part of the pantheon. Everything with Tori is so messy and sloppy and fucked up. She mixes me up until I don't know what part of me is which, until I don't know whether I'm happy or sad or angry or calm, because I'm everything around her. More than anything, I'm scared to feel that way. I'm scared to lose that control I spent so many years perfecting.

I switch the radio off, letting out a long breath and tapping my fingers on the steering wheel.

Of all the problems with Tori, of all the things I hate and love about her, I've overlooked the biggest one of all. The reason why I can never have what I want. The reason I can never want. The reason why all the could've beens and should've beens will never be anything more than that.

The biggest problem with Tori... is me. How am I supposed to overcome myself?

I'm the only thing standing in my way.

/

**A/N: It's been a while, squirrels, but mama went nuts for a little while.**

**Well, not really, although I did eat a whole bunch of almonds and what I think was a cashew, but might've been a small and terrified grasshopper. Regardless, I lost several weeks to it, and have now started my own religion/science – _Time Travel Through Legumes_.**

**I expect to be publishing a book on my theories, once I regain my memory of what exactly happened during those weeks. Who knows what amazing things I might've seen? So far, all I've found is a napkin with a drawing of a cat on it, so I'm going with the assumption that I created the first cats, with the help of the Egyptians.**

**Until then, here's this. Reviews will be used to fund my time travel research, and, if all goes well, I should be famous by last year.**


	8. Chapter 8

**Disclaimer: Victorious is not my property, but much like other things that aren't my property, I'm trespassing anyway.**

/

The sky gives a begrudging mutter, rolling and shaking its displeasure through my car. Clouds cluster together, a conspiracy of grey, losing their soft and fluffy appearance and gorging themselves with ink, every rumble a threat to split themselves open.

I don't know how long I've been driving. Long enough to see the sun shrink and fall, to see the clouds creep in, silent in their approach. I don't even know if the stars are out yet. They're hidden behind a swollen ceiling, swallowed by the storm. It's windy outside. I see the trees flex sideways, leaves and cast off sheets of paper twirling a chaotic dance. Rain falls fitfully, a few premature clouds blushing themselves onto the pavement, road slick and shining under my warm headlights. I don't know where I am. It's not the first time. This car is- this car _was_- my sanctuary. A means of escape, of running and running in a city you can't get out of. No matter what streets I turn onto, I never reach the outskirts of Hollywood. I never make it away from the neat, manicured houses that I've seen all my life, that I've lived in all my life. I never see the mess that some peoples lives can be. I never see the less-than-pristine houses, I never see the tired father come home, sweat staining his shirt, I never see the mother pushing a lawn mower, wiping a hand across her brow. I never see anything less than perfect. I keep myself away from the mess, from the struggle. I keep myself clean and held apart. I stay indoors, I stay alone. I tell myself that people like that can't be happy. Not really. They might love each other, but that's all they have. You can't be happy with one person. You just can't. If you could, Dad would've stayed with Mom. Stayed in Pasadena at that little law firm, instead of taking a ludicrous offer in Hollywood, and dragging me and Mom with him. Love wasn't enough to keep them together, and they had everything else in the world to keep them happy. How can people who live such messy, complicated, difficult lives still smile at the end of the day?

They do, though. I kid myself that it's not possible, because it's not possible for me. I'm cut from my parents' cloth, and we have an awfully discerning tailor.

If I even could be happy with one person, why can't I be happy with Beck? Why does Tori keep creeping in? He's perfect. He's safe. He doesn't mind that I'm closed up, that I'm pushy and loud and mean. He doesn't like it, but he lets me be who I am. Maybe Tori'd let me be that too, except I'm not myself around her. Without even doing anything, she turns me upside down. She disrupts the neatly stored feelings, the carefully arranged thoughts. She makes me a mess, and at the end of every day, she's there, swirled up in me. But there are days I've woken up smiling.

Thunder rumbles, vibrating the air with its great yawn, rain starting to pour down in a great sheet, rattling and pattering over my car, hissing a fine mist on the road.

I have feelings for Tori. That much is obvious. That much has been clear from the beginning. As much as I tried to fool myself that every time with her was the last time, that they were just stumbles on a path I'd made a wrong turn on, part of me has known that it was never about hating her. Maybe at the beginning, the very beginning, it was. A way to purge whatever love existed in me, and leave it as pure hate. Maybe at the start it was about trying to hate her more. It's not about trying to hate now. It's about trying not to love her. To get back the feeling I was content with. To put back all these emotions and lock them up, where they can't hurt me anymore. As hard as it is to strive to hate her, it's harder still to accept that I don't. That I really don't, at all, and the harder I try, the more evident it becomes.

I glance in my rearview mirror, tail-lights staining the street behind me red. The backseat is dark, the changing light building shadows of us there, pressed against the leather. That was when I realised, when I let Tori... when I forgot to hate her, just for that little bit.

I tear my eyes away from the mirror, throwing them back on the dimly lit road, windscreen wipers barely making a difference to the steady torrent of rain that needles the glass. I think back on all the times I was with her, my fingers inside her, my lips caressing her. The funny thing is, I can remember everything. Every little detail, every pant, every hitched breath and trembling muscle, but the one thing I can't remember is how I felt during it all. All I remember is her, in images starker than those painted by the lightning, darkness stripped away for a moment. A blink of an eye. That's how I was with her. That darkness, stripped away. Sometimes for a moment, for a sentence, for a heartbeat, but always for too long.

I take a deep breath, heart hot and heavy in my chest, crushing my lungs. My hands twist at the wheel roughly, car swaying unsteadily as I take the corner hard.

The first time I kissed her, _really_ kissed her, wasn't in the bathroom at school. It wasn't in the backseat of my car. It was in her house, in the dark. Pressed up against her in her room. When I could forget who she was and who I was, and what we're supposed to be. The first time I really kissed her, I wasn't kissing _her_. I was kissing this girl who makes my heart tremble and ache. This girl whose fingers danced over my skin like our breathing was a melody. This girl I didn't know, because I didn't want to. If you don't know someone, you can't fall in love with them. There's no such thing as love at first sight, and, true to form, I lost my heart in the dark. When she gasped my name in that twilight, the words were pins pricking me, digging under my skin with a reminder. That I was Jade, and she was Tori, and never the two shall meet. I can still remember what she tastes like.

The heat crawls along my ribs, climbing upwards, scratching at my throat with needle sharp claws. It's a sickly creature that she introduced in me, that she infected me with when we met in the park that night. A disease of possibilities, caught when she stripped off her skin and stood in her bare bones, pleading with me. When she spoke everything I'd already thought. _If only things were different._ If only I could live in mess with a smile on my face, and Tori's arm around me. If only I could take that chance. If only I could take the road less travelled; the road of the heart, not the head. If only I could get her out of both. If only she'd never come to Hollywood Arts. If only, if only, _if only_.

The cat comes out of nowhere, a dark and desperate streak dashing across the street. My foot slams down on the brake, frozen hands twisting the wheel. The tyres screech and skid, sluicing and sliding on the slick tarmac. There's a sharp metallic snap, a tortured scream of steel, and I'm thrown sideways, seatbelt jerking me back in the seat like a rough hand; a whip snapped across my chest. The car rocks to a stop, engine stuttering before returning to a strained idle. My heart's jolting in my chest, flooding adrenaline through my veins like neon, lighting me up. My fingers shake as I turn the key, killing the engine, my headlights illuminating a closed store, interior desolate. The passenger side door is warped, bowing in the middle slightly, a sharp crack fracturing through the window. I manage to hook my stiff fingers around the door handle, almost spilling out into the street as it swings open. I'm wet in an instant, the rain a heavy blanket settling over me. I circle around the hood, a hand placed on the slick metal, my steps uneven, almost tripping over the curb. There's a street sign bent almost double, folded like a paperclip against my passenger door. Navy paint scraped away to expose bright and gleaming steel. Who knew my car could hide its true colours so well?

A chill starts to sink into my bones, nibbling and gnawing at my flesh, covering it in goosebumps. I get back into the car, falling heavily into the seat, wet clothes slipping on the leather. My fingers worm into my hair, head bowing, and the next thing I know, the water running down my face is warm, and the taste on my lips is of salt. I squeeze my eyes shut, lips parted, soundless sobs forced out by the heavy, hectic pounding of my heart. I'm scared, I'm so scared of everything. I just want everything to go back to the way it was. I don't want to be out here, cowering in a banged up car. I don't want to keep feeling these things that hurt me, these biting bugs I thought I'd locked away. I want the walls of my maze to stay straight, foliage neatly trimmed. I want to keep everyone out, because if I let them in, they'll just trample everything. They'll mess everything up. I've worked so hard to be who I am, to be together. To stay safe, in the heart of my gilded cage. Beck might've cut through to me, might've reached me in my hiding place, but he lowered the sheet again, let me stay where I was so sure I wanted to be; in this maze I don't even know my way out of anymore.

Tori, though? She's torn the sheet away, held a hand out to me. She wants to show me the way out of this prison that I've locked myself into. Or maybe she just wants to stay in there with me.

My chest aches with every breath, ribs feeling crushed and broken. The seatbelt might've kept me from flying around my car like a pinball, but it didn't do it gently. I take as deep a breath as I can manage, blinking away whatever tears still stubbornly well, lips shaking. I'm a wreck. Just as much as my car is. The only difference is, I don't know who can fix me. Home is not a place of healing, Beck's only a place to rest. Everything tells me not to go to her. Every instinct I have tells me to retreat, to cut her out like cancerous flesh, lest she burrow down and reach my bloodstream. But that's what I've doing all this time; running away. I've been doing nothing but setting up barriers against her, even though she was never attacking. She's only my enemy because I can't fight her.

Maybe it's time I tried something different. I'm scared, and I'm hurt, and I'm soaked to the bone. I couldn't feel any worse than I've already made myself feel. I'm torn into pieces too tiny to see. What more harm can seeing Tori do? It's time to finally stop running, to wallow in the mess that's always surrounded me. It's time to deal with this thing I keep trying to fuck away. I need to know. I need to know if she could've been good for me, if I was right to be terrified of this feeling. I need to know if maybe she could've loved me too. I need to know what it could've felt like to be with her, to really _be_ with her. Not as Jade, not as Tori. Just as two people. One who never feels a thing, and one who feels too much. Strip us to our skeletons, and maybe we're not so different. I've had some bone showing through for a while now.

Maybe she can show me why people still smile at the end of the day. Maybe she can show me how to be happy, even in the midst of mess. Maybe she could be that someone that makes everything okay.

Or maybe she could just be another mistake I keep making.

/

**A/N: And so we begin the dramatic climax. And climax it shall.**

**Speaking of climaxes, I actually had an experience not dissimilar to the one Jade experiences with Mr. Frisky Kitty. Except the car didn't crash, it wasn't raining, and it was the cat who was driving, and me who dashed across the road. So, pretty much exactly the same.**

**And I'd do it again, too.**

**Reviews are angel tears, so let me collect enough in a bowl to get to Heaven. Or to hell, for making so many angels cry. We'll see. A vacation's a vacation, right?**


	9. Chapter 9

**Disclaimer: Victorious is not my property, nor is my neighbour's paper. Yet I shall take both with impunity.**

/

It's Tori's mom who answers the door, words of welcome poised on her lips. They die in her throat as she takes me in, dripping and shivering on her doorstep, make up smeared over my cheeks. "Jade? Honey?" She says my name like it's a mystery, like she's not sure it's really me, but her voice still rings with the same warmth that Tori's does. It's not fear, but concern in her voice.

She turns, calling out for Tori before ushering me inside. "You're soaked! You poor thing." She sounds like a mother, something I haven't heard for a long time. She yells for Tori again, torn between me and the stairs. Even she knows I need Tori. "Wait right here. I'll get you a towel, okay?"

I nod, water dancing and dripping off the ends of my hair, my top cold and heavy, clinging to my clammy skin. I don't remember the drive here, apart from white-knuckled hands on the wheel, breath bleeding out through my cold lips. The shaking didn't even start until I got to Tori's driveway, starting in my shoulders and working its way down. The rain felt almost warm on the walk to her front door, a million fingers prodding over me, tugging at my hair, my clothes, ushering me closer to her.

I have some stupid notion in my head that she'll be happy to see me, that she'll come dancing down those stairs like she always does, a smile never far from her lips. When she finally appears, her steps are heavy, shoulders bowed, eyes fixed on the next step ahead. "Mom, what is it?" She whines, annoyance in her voice, and I wonder how she'll react when she sees me. Did she smile before because I was there, or am I the reason she's not smiling now?

She's in her pyjamas, blue and cloud-spattered, black framed glasses perched on her nose. She was probably doing homework, sprawled out on her bed where we once tangled together. Tori notices me as she reaches the bottom of the stairs, foot freezing as it touches the ground. She grabs the towel off her mother as she comes back, dismissing her mom in stilted words. It's like a before and after picture; seeing them side-by-side. Mrs. Vega, just like Tori was, warm, concerned. Happy. And this Tori now, hard and cold, holding herself like it's an effort just to stand, just to keep herself together. She's become just like me, and my dream to see her that way is now a nightmare. It doesn't make me happy like I thought it would. It only makes me aware of how empty I really am, how it wasn't Tori that needed to be broken, it was me that needed to be fixed.

"What are you doing here?" Tori's voice is low, towel bunched in front of her like a shield, fingers pinching the edges.

"I... I didn't know where else to go." My voice comes out hoarse, shaken and rattled about in my bruised chest. It comes out broken, shattered, and the only other time Tori's heard me like this was in the park, for that one brief instant when all the possibilities became too much, when they crowded me with their plaintive voices of what could've been.

"Are you okay?" Even with what I've made her into, her goodness still shines through. Even when caring hurt her so much, she still does it. She can't stop caring, and I'm starting to wish that I could start.

I try to say yes, to straighten my spine and take the shake from my shoulders, but all that comes out is a noise like a cough, a rattle in my throat like I just can't unstick the lie and force it out.

Tori reaches out in an instinctive gesture before recoiling. If I wasn't who I am and she wasn't who she was, her arm would be around me, she'd be pulling me into a tight hug and keeping me from sliding apart. But the problem's always been who we are, and it keeps us separate now. "Come on, you're freezing. You can change in my room." Her voice is soft, almost guarded, like she wants to be the wall that I am towards her, not letting anything in. The problem with Tori is she never closes the gate, though. She can never shut you out completely.

She leads me up the stairs while I wrap the towel around myself, trying to calm my shivering. It's a familiar path to her room, but every time I take it it's a different journey. I never feel the same way about her twice. She opens the door to her room, her name emblazoned on the white-painted wood, a few cheery photographs and magazine cutouts floating around it, motioning me inside as she stands back.

The carpet sinks under my heavy shoes, droplets of water painting the light-coloured carpet dark. Tori's bedcovers are messy, a textbook open near her pillow, Pearpod playing a soft song on a portable speaker. The scent of her is rich in here, a mild, floral scent that settles in the bottom of your lungs, that sinks into your clothes until you carry her with you. She's never even been in my house, yet I can still smell her there. In my room. In my car.

Tori crosses to her bed, flicking a glance at me before she bends to rifle underneath her pillow, tossing a bundled up shirt to me. "This should fit."

I examine the black shirt, material soft and warm under my cold, pruny fingers. The name of a familiar band is plastered across the front, faded and worn. "Isn't this mine?"

Tori's mouth twists, her shoulders shrugging. "Yeah. You left it here... before."

My fingers tighten in the shirt. She kept it under her pillow. "Oh."

I shrug the towel off me, resting it across Tori's desk along with the shirt; the piece of me I'd forgotten I'd left behind. There's no such thing as a clean break. I pluck at the wet hem of my top, material sticking to my skin, Tori's gaze fixed on me.

She tears herself away, fingers fumbling with a drawer handle. "I'll find you some pants to wear."

I wince as my arms raise over my head, ribs throbbing. Tori turns at the noise, eyes widening.

I let the slippery top drop to the ground, a finger tracing the angry red stripe that crosses my chest, skin raised and swollen. "Think it's gonna bruise?"

"Jade..." Tori approaches me, a hand outreached, the other hovering about her mouth. "What happened?"

"A cat." I try to form a smile, lips trembling. "Don't worry, the cat's fine."

"Are you hurt?"

I press my hand over my sternum, a pulse of pain knocking my breath out. "N-no." Tori's hand covers mine, drawing it away gently. "_Yes_." The word's almost gasped, torn out by Tori's closeness, her concern, her everything. "I'm scared, Tori. I'm so scared." Tears prick my eyes again, Tori's fingers brushing away one as it spills over, carving down my cheek.

"It's okay, you're gonna be fin-"

"I'm scared of _you_." I burst out, knocking her hand away. "Why are you still being so nice to me?" I ignore the wrench of pain as I turn and tug on the shirt that smells of both me and her, scents mingled together.

"Because you need it." Tori draws her hand back to her side, fingers slightly curled.

"But I don't deserve it. Why can't you treat me like the person I am, instead of this saint you want me to be?" I'm fucking things up again. I came here to apologise, to finally accept what I've been fighting ever since we fucked in that filthy bathroom; that I love her. That I can't hate her, not even a little bit. The things I want to say, the things I feel... they're not me, they're her, and for once, just once, I want to be like her. To open up my locked gate, and let someone in. To have my walls come crumbling down.

Tori stays silent, shoulders slumped. She fought against me, _for_ me, as long as she could. She kept fighting because I wouldn't accept her surrender, because I kept attacking again and again. I still am, but now she's silent, taking my blows with little more than a hurt expression.

I swipe my cheeks roughly, fingers coming away coated black from my smeared makeup. "Tell me, Tori."

"Tell you what?" She says the words dully, like she's expecting me to insult her, to yell her into nothing, to cut until she's nothing but mincemeat on the ground.

"Tell me what it would've been like. If things were different. If I wasn't... if I wasn't me. Tell me we could've been happy." I can't keep the desperation out of my voice, the faint and disgusting hope that refuses to die in me.

Tori's lips tighten. "I can't."

"_Tell me_. Please, Tori. Tell me we could've been something." I take a step towards her, Tori wincing like it's a blow. I raise a hand to her cheek, fingers shaking. "Tell me we could've been happy."

"Why are you doing this?" It's the question she asked every time. The question I never gave a truthful answer to, always finding the words that'd hurt her the most, that'd poison her a little more each time.

This time, it's the antidote on my lips. "Because I love you."

Tori's hands curl into fists. "Every time-" She spits it out between clenched teeth, returning the venom I gave to her so often. "Every time I think it's over- every time I think I'm over you- every time I think it doesn't hurt anymore, you show up. You show up, and you just hurt me more. You've hurt me more than anyone else ever has Jade, and I want to tell you to leave. I want to tell you to get out, to get the fuck out of here because I know all you'll do is hurt me again. I want to hate you so bad, Jade. I really do." She takes a ragged breath, tears shimmering in her eyes. "I want to, but I can't. I can't hate you. Why?" She looks at me helplessly, completely torn down. "Why can't I hate you?"

She's asked the one thing I could never answer. Not for her, not for myself. All that's left to say can't be spoken, because there aren't words for it. Words are so good at wounding, and so helpless at healing. There aren't enough to suture up a heart, to seal closed the wounds they cause. Words are the alternative to feeling, and we've both run out of ones to hide our hearts. There's nothing I can say, but there's something I can do, and it's the only thing I can think of. It's the only thing I need right now. Maybe I can use my lips for something other than lies.

Tori's lips are soft, wet with tears, the salty liquid dampening my fingers where they tilt her chin up. Her shoulders shake like they're coming apart, and instead of shoving me away, telling me to get out, she leans closer, fingers trembling on my waist. It's not what any normal person would do. It's what I'd do, and this whole time, Tori's every action has mirrored my own. She's pushed me, challenged me, squashed down her feelings... but most of all, she's tried to hate me. But that's something both of us couldn't do. We might be two sides of a coin, but it's still just one coin, made from exactly the same stuff, just with a different stamp.

For the first time in a long time, I'm not scared. I'm not angry. It feels right to kiss her, it always has, but for the first time I'm not telling myself it's wrong. I'm not telling myself her lips taste too much like mint, that her hands are too dry, her hips too bony. She's perfect, and she always has been. I've been trying to make her mirror image match the crack running through mine.

For the first time, I don't feel that crack splitting me in half.

Our lips part with a soft sound, Tori's breath feathering my neck. Her forehead is pressed against mine, eyes still shut tight. Her hands are just a little too tight on my hips, like she's trying to stop me getting away, to keep me firmly in place. "Is this real?" She murmurs, a hint of fear in her voice, muffled beneath the hope, the longing.

I answer her with another kiss, a soft, slow caress. A kiss that confesses what I could never say - that she's been right all along, about everything, about me. Our history is a blemish; the lies, the games, the pain. They're a mark on us both, an ugly growth that has to be lopped off, seared away and scoured from existence.

I part from her with a soft sigh. "It's real."

I'm done with the game I was playing with her. The _game over_ screen is flashing, and my score is set at zero. I'm ready to start a new game, a different kind, and this one is co-op.

/

**A/N: After thirty years of waiting, this fic is nearing its end. And, much like our own lives, it will end the way it started. With nudity (assuming your corpse is tossed in the woods for the wolves to devour, as per my last wishes).**


	10. Chapter 10

**Disclaimer: I don't own Victorious, nor any manifestation of it.**

Her lips ghost my neck, fluttering, a mixture of breath and touch and teeth. She's in my house. A first. She's in my room.

She's in my bed.

It's dark but it doesn't make a difference. There were times before when closing my eyes could keep me from knowing it's her, but my fingertips have learned her form too well. She's her in every curve, every muscle and bone and goosebump. She's braille I've learnt to read, and she says __Tori __in stuttering script. __Tori __in everything she is.

Beck was quiet when I told him, shoulders hunched together. He'd stared at his tapping shoe, fingers tented in his lap. _Maybe it's for the best_. He said I was never really there, never really with him. That while my arms held him close and my lips moved on his, my eyes were always far away, my eyebrows always drawn down. That all he was left with was my body, a house with no one in it. He said he was tired of squatting in my heart, just waiting for its true owner to move in and kick him out. And she'd finally arrived, bags packed. He didn't seem angry. Emotion isn't Beck's style, and it's something that drew me to him at first. He promised serenity, and it's what he gave. I left him just as quietly.

All those memories. The bathroom. The car. Her room, lights off. The park. All the memories that seemed so hard, and jagged and painful, are nothing compared to now. I don't know what I thought'd happen. Like it'd suddenly be easy to be with her. Like everything would just click, and instead of loving Beck, I'd be loving her. A simple little switch. It's not easy though. It's not what I thought it'd be. All the romantic comedies... they don't have anything like this. It's all misunderstandings and hurt feelings and confusion, but it always ends neatly, wrapped up with a little bow, a kiss pressed against it. Not that I ever believed any of that romantic junk anyway. Being with Tori is messy, and sometimes it's like I'm still not even with her. Sometimes I have to remind myself that I'm not fighting her anymore, that I don't have to kill that urge to kiss her, to brush her hair away from her cheek when it spills over. I have to remind myself that who we are isn't what keeps us apart anymore. It's what lets us be together.

Tori presses a soft kiss along my jaw, followed by a quick, bright smile, a fingertip running down my cheek. The TV chatters in the background, a dry British voice narrating as a bunch of hyenas take down an antelope. The pack tears it apart, blood coating their muzzles, yelping and squealing as Tori's lips trace my neck again, her breath soft and warm. My fingertips slip under her short sleeves, skin warm and taut as an unidentifiable organ is dragged free from the carcass onscreen, purple and red and yellow.

She feels so soft and tastes so sweet. So why do I feel like that antelope? Like she's tearing me apart.

I don't think it's easy for her either. Tori's used to sweetness, to boys telling her how pretty she is, how nice she is, how wonderful she is. She might be all those things, but she's seldom heard me say them. I think she thought being with me would... I don't know, open up some touchy-feely side of me. But the only touching and feeling we're doing is on the outside. Neither of us has ever really fought for someone. We're so accustomed to people fighting __for __us. Of course we are, we're actresses. We expect it. Tori has my heart in her jaws, and her teeth are none too gentle.

"Can I...?" A whispered question, Tori's hand hovering over my stomach, fingertips just brushing the top of my jeans. I nod, tongue running out over my lips as she unfastens the button, and I swear for just a moment I taste blood. She's gentle. She's so gentle.

Maybe that's why we're having to fight so hard. Because we're not fighting anymore. We get along. We talk, we kiss, we share coffee. We've cut off our locked horns, and now we don't know what to do with our bare heads. Maybe it's so hard to be with her because it's not hard to be with her. We're still us, but we're trying so hard not to be. To be the versions of us where we can be together, and not drive each other crazy. We've toned ourselves down to greyscale, to shadows, and it's not working. Being with her isn't working, because I'm not with __her__.

I'm not with the girl who drove me insane. I'm not with the girl who antagonised me, and challenged me, and bowed and swayed but never broke. I'm with somebody's girlfriend, not with Tori, and I'm starting to realise that there was never any chance of us being together if only we were other people. The only way we work is when we're us, and it's angry and ugly and painful, but it feels a lot more like loving her than this does.

Her hand is in my pants, her lips are on mine, and it feels like her, it even tastes like her. But my heart isn't racing, my hips aren't shivering. It's like being with her is a dream I'm trying to remember, and all I'm getting is this faded version, drifting in and out of focus. I want her fire, I want her claws. I want her teeth to stop pricking my heart, and just snap down on it until it bursts. I want what I never had with Beck; passion. Without it, Tori's just like him. A safe place for me to rest. I'm tired of feeling safe.

"This isn't working." I murmur, eyes fixed on the ceiling.

Tori's hand stops, slipping out of my pants. "What isn't? The...?" She wiggles her fingers, looking concerned. She's so unsure of herself in the bedroom. Always pausing to ask if it's okay, always twisting and turning to see if I'll suddenly unlock for her. She's not the girl who fucked me in my car, who grinned and teased me.

"Us. We're not working." I push my hair back, propping myself up to look at her better. "I want you, not Tori Lite."

Her eyebrows furrow down, eyes dark. "Jade, I don't get it. You have me." Her mouth twists. "You've had me for a long time." She adds softly, eyes flicking down.

"I don't have you." My tone is sharp, scornful. "I've got the Tori everyone else has. So sweet and kind and caring. You touch me like I'm your goddamn Pearphone, and you're afraid you'll smudge the screen."

Tori takes a short breath, nostrils flaring. "Well it's not like you're doing anything to keep me. I thought if we started dating you might thaw out a little, but you're still the frickin' Ice Queen. What do you want, Jade? What do you want from me?"

"I want this."

Tori raises an eyebrow, trying to keep a scowl off her face. "You want us to fight?"

"I didn't fall in love with a pacifist." The dry British voice crackles in the background, crocodile lunging out of the water. "Are you really happy like this, Tori? Are you happy?"

She licks her lips. "It doesn't hurt as much."

"Maybe it has to hurt." I say dismissively, lowering myself back to the bed.

Tori's jaw sets, a muscle in her cheek flickering. Her lips twitch like she's itching to say a dozen things, a score of vicious dogs leaping on a leash she longs to let go of. But she reins them in, caging them in her teeth. There's only one thing that slips through the gaps, more cat than canine, hissed from between her lips. "You want it to hurt?"

Her nails prick my shoulders, and then it's teeth, sharp and hard and electric on my neck. She bites down until I'm seeing stars, heart racing wildly in my chest, and the documentary on TV just seems like a prophecy now. But in this scenario, I'm a hyena too. I dig my fingers under Tori's chin, raising her face to me roughly. She gasps when I bite her lip, sinking my teeth in until she whimpers. "What's the matter Tori? Can't take the pain?" I jibe, nails pricking her jaw.

Her lower lip is swollen, cheeks flushed, a sheen over her chocolate eyes like she's feverish, and maybe I am making her sick. "You have no idea how much pain I've taken from you. Do you wanna know what it's like to be fucked by you? Do you?"

Part of me wonders whether Tori knows I'm toying with her, goading her into what I want, what I need from her. I said I was done playing games with her, but it's better than sitting in silence, screen flashing. She's just a toy I don't want to break anymore. I'd rather play with the things I love than leave them on the shelf to collect dust.

"Hurt me, Tori."

That's all it takes. I can taste the anger in every hard kiss, broken only to breathe, feel the pain in every sharp nip on my lips, my neck. My collarbone. Her hand shoves itself into my pants, nails scraping where her fingers previously tip-toed and tremored. She forces two fingers into me with a grunt, and it hurts. It makes my hips cringe and my toes curl, breath dying in my lungs. Her thrusts are hard, fingers twisting, and her teeth keep me gasping, bucking on the bed. I shut my eyes tight and it's like I'm not even here with her. No, I'm pressed against the cold tiled wall of our school bathroom, heart in my throat and adrenaline in my veins. I'm Tori and she's me, and there's this pain in my stomach that's feathered with gnawing fear. But there's hope mixed in there too.

Tori wanted me to feel her pain, to feel every little arrow I shot into her with every kiss, every touch. I feel it, and it's just what I want. I come with a loud moan, hips twitching up into her hand, chasing the friction she steals with every withdrawal. I don't want her to stop, I tell her not to stop, but it's over. She's sobbing wet breaths onto my neck, skin hot and throbbing, and her claws slip back into their sheaths. Tori's still learning how to hunt. Her anger burns itself out too quickly, turns back and scorches her instead.

"__Fuck___. _Why do you do this?" She whimpers it in a helpless voice, hand dragging itself out of my undone pants.

"Because I love you."

"Do you?" She raises her head to stare at me, eyebrows drawn together. "Because you loving me doesn't feel all that different from you hating me."

My heart's still tapping her name out in Morse code, pushing the syllables up into my bitten throat, hips still shaking from my painful climax. "I love you. Even when I hated you, I still loved you."

"So why isn't this working? Why can't it just be easy now?"

"Maybe it's not meant to be for us. Maybe we're supposed to keep hurting."

There's a hollow look in her face, hidden in her cheekbones. "So what do we do?"

I lick my lips, raising a shaky hand to her face. "Do you love me?"

She nods against my palm, cheek soft and warm.

"Then we keep fighting until somebody loses. I want you. I want you like this. I want it to hurt, to sting just to look at you. It hurts to love you Tori, and I don't want it to stop."

She's quiet, hand on my hip, head on my shoulder. She's angled her body so that her hip brushes mine, thigh on the verge of slipping between my legs. She holds it back. "Does it always have to be like this?"

I don't know what to tell her. I can't spin some fairytale bullshit that we'll be together forever, and have 2.5 kids in a nice little house in the suburbs. We could collapse in on ourselves at any moment, lose the fuel that keeps us going and flame out. There's no guarantees with us, no safety net. If we fall, we break our necks, and that's the end. Close curtains.

"Maybe."

She sighs into my shirt, hand moving to ball on my stomach. Tori pushes herself up a little after a moment, dropping a soft kiss on my cheek.

"Okay." Her tone is one of resignation, of acceptance. She knows as well as I do that it was never going to be easy, that it was never going to be simple. That our puzzle pieces wouldn't just click, they'd have to be stomped in and cut to fit. She knows, and it feels just like she does, it feels like everything with her does.

Bittersweet.


End file.
